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METRICAL  PIECES, 


TRANSLATED   AND  ORIGINAL. 


BY 

N.   L.  FEOTHINGHAM. 


Part  S*con*. 


BOSTON: 
ROBERTS  BROTHERS. 
1870. 


Entered  according  to  Act  of  Congress,  in  the  year  1869,  by 

ROBERTS  BROTHERS, 
in  the  Clerk's  Office  of  the  District  Court  of  the  District  of  Massachusetts. 


CAMBRIDGE  : 
PRESS  OF  JOHN  WILSON  AND  SON. 


CONTENTS. 


ABROAD. 

PAGE 

The  Cathedral  of  St.  Stephen,  in  Vienna     ....  3 

The  Cathedral  at  Vienna   5 

The  "  Chartreuse  "  on  the  Lake  of  Thdn   11 

Naples   15 

Rome  in  Hexameters   20 

Illumination  of  the  City  of  Florence   26 

Hospentiial   30 

Festival  of  St.  Agnes,  at  her  Church  without  the 

Walls   32 

Boston  in  Lincolnshire   35 

Homeward  from  Foreign  Lands   39 

HOMILIES  IN  VERSE. 

"  Arise  and  Eat  "   45 

"  Wash  ye  one  another's  Feet  "   48 

"Thine  Eyes  shall  see  the  King"   51 

"Cast  thy  Bread  upon  the  Waters"   53 

Morning   55 


iv 


CONTENTS. 


HYMNS. 

For  the  Ordination  of  Mr.  Edward  J.  Young  as 
Pastor  of  the  Channing  Congregation  Church 
in  Newton,  June  18,  1857    59 

For  the  Children.    Jan.  22,  1858    61 

Sung  in  the  Federal-Street  Meeting-House,  on  the 
last  Sunday  of  its  use  for  Public  Worship, 
March  13,  1859    62 

For  the  Unitarian  Festival,  Music  Hall,  Mat  24,  1859  63 

For  the  Dedication  of  the  House  of  Worship  of  the 

Third  Unitarian  Society,  New  York,  Dec.  25,  1863  65 

For  the  Fiftieth  Anniversary  of  the  Dedication  of 

New  South  Church,  Dec.  25,  1864    67 

For  the  United  Communion  Service  at  Hollis-Street 

Church,  May  27,  1866    69 

For  the  laying  the  Corner-Stone  of  a  Church,  April 
4,  1867   70 

X  E  N I  A. 

With  a  Meerschaum  75 

With  a  Hair  Bracelet  76 

MISCELLANEOUS. 

In  behalf  of  "The  Home  for  Destitute  and  Incur- 
able Women  "   79 


CONTENTS.  V 

Ode    81 

To    84 

Saint  Cecilia   86 

Saint  Christopher   89 

The  "Juvenis  Adorans  "  ......   90 

The  Crossed  Swords   93 

A  Sonnet   96 

Lying  Dead  at  Fourscore   97 

At  a  Grave   99 

A  Lament  for  Rev.  William  Parsons  Lunt,  D.D.  .    .  101 

Burial  of  John  Eliot  Thayer   103 

Dreams   106 

forevermore  and  nevermore   108 

On  a  Miniature   112 

Prayer  and  the  Dead  ,   114 

Bartim^eus   117 

Hymn  for  the  Blind   124 

The  Blind  Asleep   125 

A  Monody   127 

Madonna   128 

At  the  Age  of  Seventy-three   130 

TRANSLATIONS. 

From  the  German  of  Heinrich  Heine   135 

The  Oaks   137 

Inscription  on  a  House  near  the  "  Chartreuse," 

Lake  of  Thun   139 


vi  CONTENTS. 

The  Ship  "Jamestown"   140 

Hymns  from  the  German. 

"  Was  mein  Gott  will,  gescheh'  all'zeit "   141 

"  Mein  Herr  und  Heiland,  lass  rair's  gehn  zu  Herzen  "  .    .  143 

"  Warum  sollt'  ich  denn  mich  gramen  ?  "   144 

"  Freu'  dich  sehr,  O  meine  Seele  I"   147 

"  Christus  der  ist  mein  Leben  "   149 

"  Jesu,  meine  Freude  "   150 

"  Aeh  wie  fliichtig,  ach  wie  nichtig  ! "  .   158 

"  O  dass  ich  tausend  Zungen  hatte  ! "   155 

"  Ich  weiss  dass  mein  Erloser  lebt"   157 

"  Straf  mich  niclit  in  deinem  Zorn  "   159 

"  Was  Gott  thut  das  ist  wohlgethan  "   161 

"  Befiehl  du  deine  Wege  "   101 

At  Morning   106 

At  Evening   169 

"  Herr,  der  du  vormals  hast  dein  land  "   171 

"  0  Durchbrecher  aller  Bande  ! "   173 

"  Jesus,  meine  Zuversicht "   175 

"  Herr,  ich  habe  missgehandelt "   177 

Christmas   179 

New  Year   181 

"  Aus  tiefer  Noth  ruf  ich  zu  dir  "   183 

"  Meinen  Jesum  lass  ich  nicht  "   185 

"  Der  letzte  meiner  Tage  "   187 

"  Der  Tag  an  dem  mein  Heiland  spricht  "   190 

For  Easter   191 

Easter  Time   194 


CONTENTS.  Vii 

u  Aus  Gnaden  soli  ich  selig  werden  "   196 

"  Jesu,  meines  Lebens  Leben  "   198 

"  Warum  betriibst  du  dich,  mein  Herz  T"   200 

"  Von  Gott  will  ich  nicht  lassen  "   202 

"  Liebster  Jesu,  wir  sind  hier  "   204 

"Ich  ruf  zu  dich,  Herr  Jesu  Christ"   205 

"  Herzliebster  Jesu,  was  hast  du  verbrochen  208 

At  Morning   209 

"  Nun  danket  alle  Gott  "   212 

"  O  Jesu,  meine  Zuversicht  "   213 

"  Es  wolle  Gott  uns  gnadig  seyn"   215 

"  O  Gott,  du  frommer  Gott  I"   217 

"  Auf  meinen  lieben  Gott "   219 

"  Herr  Jesu  Christ,  dich  zu  uns  wend  "   221 

"  Wach  auf,  mein  Herz,  und  singe  "   222 

"  Lobe  den  Herrn,  den  machtigen  Konig  der  Ehren  "    .    .  224 

"  Wenn  wir  in  hochsten  Xothen  sein  "   226 

"  Auf,  auf,  mein  Herz,  mit  Ereude  "   228 

"  Jesus  Christus,  unser  Heiland  "   231 

"  Du,  O  schones  Welt  Gebaude  "   232 

"  Mit  Eried  und  Freud  fahr  ich  dahin  "   234 

"  Christen  erwarten  in  allerlei  Fallen  "   236 

"  Fahre  fort,  fahre  fort "   238 

"  An  dir  allein,  an  dir  hab'  ich  Gesiindigt  "    241 

"  Gott  ist  mein  Lied  "   243 

"  Gieb  dich  Zufrieden  und  sey  stille  246 

"  Gott  ist  mein  Hirt :  was  mangelt  jemals  mir  ?  " .    .    .    .  249 

"  Gott  will's  machen  dass  dir  sachen  "   251 


Viii  CONTENTS. 

"  Gott  ist  treu  und  alle  Morgen  neu  "   253 

"  Wie  schnell  verstrich,  O  Herr  voll  mild  und  huld  "    .    .  255 

"  Wer  bin  ich,  Herr,  in  deinem  Licht %"   258 

"  Frohlich  soli  mein  Herze  springen"   260 

"  In  dich  hab  ich  gehoffet,  Herr  "   263 

"  Geduld  !  wie  sehr  der  Sturm  auch  weht "   265 

"  Wunderbarer  Konig  "   266 

"  Ein  feste  Burg  ist  unser  Gott "   269 

"  O  wundergrosser  Siegesheld   272 

"  Zeuch  uns  nach  dir,  so  eilen  wir  "   275 


ABROAD. 


ABROAD. 


THE  CATHEDRAL  OF  ST.  STEPHEN, 
IN  VIENNA. 

You  are  old,  proud  pile,  as  you  sadden  and  frown 
O'er  the  modern  roofs  of  this  merry  town. 
You  were  old  when  the  "  Pilgrims  "  spoke  the  new 
word, 

And  the  clay  and  the  thatch  made  a  house  for  the 
Lord. 

You  were  old  when  the  Turk  stormed  this  western- 
most gate, 

And  it  shook  on  its  hinge  for  Byzantium's  old  fate. 
Then  was  hurled  from  yon  nook,  through  St.  John 
Campestan, 

All  Europe's  crusade  at  the  fierce  Mussulman. 
From  that  lofty  perch  the  good  Stahremberg  eyed 
The  armies  of  Islam  encamped  far  and  wide  ;  — 


4 


THE  CATHEDRAL  OF  ST.  STEPHEN. 


There  watched  for  the  rescue.    At  length,  to  the 
plain 

Flashed  the  lances  of  Poland,  the  guns  of  Lorraine. 

You  are  old,  proud  pile ;  but  older  is  called 
That  stump  of  a  tree  from  the  Wienerwald, 
Which  grew  when  the  shades  of  the  forest  fell 
On  the  spot  where  these  joys  and  grandeurs  dwell. 
It  stands  immured  between  shops  of  the  street, 
Where  the  press  is  the  greatest  of  hurrying  feet. 
Of  yore,  each  apprentice  drove  a  nail  here, 
As  he  started  forth  on  his  Wander- Year: 
Hence  this  son  of  the  earth,  so  runs  the  tale, 
Stands  all  complete,  in  an  iron  mail. 

I  pause  in  your  square,  and  look  up  at  your  height, 
O  minster!  on  this  my  farewell  night; 
And  lo !  the  North  Star,  from  its  post  sublime, 
Looks  calm  disdain  on  all  dates  of  time. 
Vienna,  Aug.  6,  1859. 


THE  CATHEDRAL  AT  VIENNA. 


5 


THE  CATHEDRAL  AT  VIENNA. 

The  monster  eagle  spreads  his  wing, 

St.  Stephen,  on  thy  roof, 
With  double  beak,  a  twofold  king, 

Mosaic  warp  and  woof. 

It  gazes  east,  it  gazes  west, 

Its  black  plumes  rough  with  pride ; 

Methinks  it  screams,  "  I  set  my  nest 
Where  none  shall  sit  beside." 

Beneath  that  roof,  by  the  Holy  Host, 

Lies  a  figure  sadly  grand  ; 
The  motto  of  a  matchless  boast 

Is  in  its  sceptred  hand. 


6 


THE  CATHEDRAL  AT  VIENNA. 


For  on  that  sceptre's  round  I  trace, 

In  mystic  letters  curled, 
This :  "  It  is  Austria's  topmost  place 

To  rule  the  subject  world." 

Bat  late  I  walked  the  Imperial  hall 
Where  Learning  sits  in  state  : 

What  wonders  upon  floor  and  wall, 
With  scarce  on  earth  its  mate ! 

But,  ah,  what  statues  wound  the  eye, 

Each  in  his  marble  mail ! 
Gods  of  the  place,  for  men  to  cry, 

"  We  bless  you,  and  all  hail ! " 

There  is  no  student,  and  no  seer; 

No  son  of  Right  and  Light ; 
Not  one,  who  drew  the  heavens  more  near, 

Or  made  the  earth  more  bright. 


THE  CATHEDRAL  AT  VIENNA. 


The  bigot,  tyrant,  and  their  tool 

Are  here  the  great  in  fame ; 
They  who  by  craft  and  force  would  rule, 

Through  rapine,  blood,  and  flame. 

The  Second  Philip  glooms  aloft; 

Fierce  Tilly  keeps  his  sword ; 
And,  less  than  his  stone  cuirass  soft, 

Alva  outglooms  his  lord. 

But  hark !    The  battle's  roar  and  wail 

Swell  on  the  Alpine  blast, 
And  shadows  stern  and  colors  pale 

O'er  gay  Vienna  cast. 

The  eagle  on  St.  Stephen's  tiles 
Looks  tattered  now,  and  sore ; 

The  sceptre  in  St.  Stephen's  aisles 
Drops  clattering  on  its  floor. 


8 


THE  CATHEDRAL  AT  VIENNA. 


'Tis  filled,  the  splendid  Bibliothek, 

With  echoes  deep  and  dull; 
So  that  each  statue's  stubborn  neck 

Quakes  on  the  pedestal. 

Be  just,  my  Muse!    New-England  veins 

Burn  against  tyrant  wrong: 
New-England  thought  should  weigh  the  gains 

That  slowliest  creep  along ; 

And  own  that  oft  some  blessing  still 

Will  mix  with  bitterest  fates, 
And  some  worst  forms  of  human  ill 

Are  destinies  and  dates. 

The  Muses'  seat,  where  those  grim  three 

Strangely  adorn  the  Muse, 
Has  simple  rooms  all  open  free 

For  simplest  students'  use. 


THE  CATHEDRAL  AT  VIENNA. 


9 


The  vast  cathedral's  vaulted  cope, 

With  monument  and  shrine, 
Gives  aid  to  millions'  faith  and  hope, 

If  an  affront  to  mine. 

Those  mighty  bastions,  the  proud  works 

Our  States  so  proudly  lack, 
Were  the  world's  wall  against  the  Turks, 

And  rolled  the  terror  back. 

Austria !  I  reach  thy  friendly  bound, 
I  harshly  judged  and  banned, 

And  cast  a  softened  eye  around 
Upon  thy  pleasant  land. 

Land  of  the  mountains'  steepy  crest, 

The  generous  river's  flow, 
With  sheaves  of  plenty  on  her  breast, 

And  vine-leaves  on  her  brow. 


THE  CATHEDRAL  AT  VIENNA. 


Land  of  a  comely,  stalwart  race, 
Where  Music  holds  a  court, 

And  Order  throws  a  guardian  grace 
Round  Industry  and  Sport. 

Here  Science  may  invent  and  find, 

Its  many  schools  among; 
And  Art  reveals  a  busy  mind, 

And  Letters  find  a  tongue. 

The  Drama  weaves  her  magic  dress 

In  purest  Attic  hues : 
All  German  hearts  thy  power  confess, 

Grillparzer's  Tragic  Muse! 

Mozart,  the  whole  earth's  minstrel,  rings 
In  his  own  Salzburg's  chimes ; 

And  Auersperg,  the  noble,  sings 
The  praise  of  freer  climes. 


THE  "  CHARTREUSE "  ON  THE  LAKE  OF  THUN.  11 


Though  given  to  priests  and  despot  kings, 

Do  not  my  strain  refuse,  — 
A  freeman's  wish  for  better  things, 

A  stranger's  last  adieus. 


THE  "CHARTREUSE"  ON  THE 
LAKE  OF  THUX. 

Inscriptions  in  different  parts  of  the  grounds  :  — 
"  Per  angusta  ad  augusta." 

"  Hie  terrarum  mihi  praeter  omnes 
Angulus  ridet." 

"  Louisen's  Ruhe." 


No  more  of  cities,  with  their  proud  cathedrals, 
And  pomp  and  pleasures  of  their  trampled  ways. 
Of  bounds  of  empire,  and  of  nations'  quarrels, 
I  write  no  more.    Upon  "  Louisa's  Rest  " 
Alone  I  sit.    Its  canopy  of  thatch 
Fends  off  the  sun ;  while  tender  memories, 


12 


THE  "  CHARTREUSE  " 


That  are  not  mine,  seem  floating  vaguely  round  me. 
A  sweeter  picture  looks  from  out  the  lake 
Than  hangs  within  the  famed  Pinacothek 
Of  Munich,  or  in  Dresden's  long-drawn  halls. 
Before  me  rise  the  domes  and  pinnacles 
Of  nature's  temples  to  the  God  of  nature, 
From  his  own  hand ;  all  shining  stainless  white, 
So  as  no  art  on  earth  could  whiten  them. 
No  sound  is  there  but  of  the  lighting  snow, 
And  driving  wind,  and  avalanche.    No  wing 
Of  bird  can  scale  those  inaccessible  heights, 
Or  beat  in  that  thin  air.    Man  plants  no  footstep 
Upon  those  trackless  wastes ;  claims  no  dominion 
O'er  these  wide  bounds.    Here  his  pretension  stops. 

1  gaze  upon  you  with  unsated  eye, 

Ye  changeless,  ever  changing  on  the  sight  ! 

Far  on  the  better  hand,  the  Blumlis  Alp 

Spreads  its  vast  slopes,  and  closes  up  the  scene 

On  that  side.    Full  in  front,  and  on  the  left, 

Stand  forth  the  wondrous  Three,  to  me  the  peerless. 


ON  THE  LAKE  OF  THUN. 


13 


Eastmost,  the  Eiger  with  his  rigid  share 
Furrows  the  sky.    The  Monk  is  next  in  place, 
Not  all  unfitly  named.    The  cowl  hangs  down 
Over  its  ample  brow.    The  folded  snows 
Are  sleeves  and  trailing  garments.    But  the  Maid ! 

0  crown  of  beauty!    If  the  Savoyard 

Is  called  the  king  of  mountains,  surely  thee 

All  hearts  pay  homage  to,  and  hail  as  queen. 

Say,  is  it  fancy  only,  as,  methinks, 

The  Jungfrau  wears  the  semblance  of  a  woman  ? 

Or  who  will  think  I  lower  it,  when  I  trace 

This  gentlest  likeness  on  so  dread  a  height? 

A  pale  face,  not  too  pale  for  beauty,  shines, 

Framed  round  in  shadows,  near  the  mountain's  top ; 

The  top  itself  a  covering  for  the  head, 

Slightly  aslant  set  on,  as  best  becomes  it; 

The  white  plume  floating  down  o'er  miles  of  space. 

And  now  I  go,  looking  my  last  upon  you. 

1  saw  you  through  the  haze  from  Rigi  Culm ; 
You  rose  in  pride  o'er  tinkling  Interlaken, 


14     THE  "  CHARTREUSE  "  ON  THE  LAKE  OF  THUN. 


And  talked  to  me  across  the  Wengern  Alp. 
And  this  is  past.    My  blessing  be  on  those, 
Who  in  all  time  shall  thus  salute  and  leave  you. 
I  shall  see  other  mountains ;  Wetterhorns, 
Schreckhorns ;  and  Faulhorns,  that  men  love  to 
climb ; 

Some  sprinkled  scantily  with  frost,  and  some 
Thick  with  eternal  winter ;  others  yet, 
Enormous  saws  of  sharp  and  splintered  crag, 
Which  the  soft  snows  refuse  to  cover  up, 
With  ruin  at  their  feet,  —  like  lubber  giants, 
That  stone  the  traveller,  and  crush  the  village 
Of  wretched  dwellers  in  such  wretched  spots. 
Mont  Blanc  will  tower  o'er  narrow  Chamounix, 
And  stretch  to  far  Sallenche  its  breadths  of  glory. 
But  you,  ye  matchless  Three,  I  lose  for  ever, 
Save  in  the  memory  of  this  scene  and  hour. 

Farewell  thy  leafy  quiet,  and  thy  lake 

Rimmed  as  with  sculptured  silver,  sweet  Chartreuse. 

Sept.  9,  1859. 


NAPLES. 


NAPLES. 


"  Auf  der  Magdalenenbriicke, 
Wo  Neapels  kleiner  Fluss 
Sich  zum  grossen  Golfo  windet, 
Steht  Sankt  Januarius. 

Und,  die  schone  Stadt  im  Riicken, 
Die  zu  schirmen  sein  Beruf, 
Wendet  er  den  steingehau'nen 
Finger  auf  nach  dem  Vesuv, 

Ihn  bedrauend,  dass  er  schone 
Mit  dem  Aschenregenguss 
Diese  Stadt,  die  schutzbefohlne 
Des  Sankt  Januarius." 

RuCKERT. 


All  night  the  rage  of  wind  and  sea 

Roared  on  your  coast,  Parthenope ! 

O  fair  and  formidable  shore ! 

Right  well  a  Siren's  name  you  bore. 

They  sang  and  slew ;  and  showed  the  bones 

Of  victims  to  their  magic  tones. 

Well  your  Medusa's  look  you  wear, 


16 


NAPLES. 


With  lovely  face  and  snaky  hair.* 
Strown  o'er  with  wrecks  of  ancient  pride, 
Rocked  by  earth-waves  from  side  to  side, 
Your  half-disburied  cities  show 
What  wealth  and  ruin  lie  below. 

'Tis  just  two  yesterdays  of  years 

Since  Naples  shook  with  panic  fears ; 

Nature,  with  throe's.    Into  the  street 

She  poured  her  throngs  of  tottering  feet ; 

All  rushing  for  the  broadest  square, 

To  meet  the  rumbling  horror  there. 

Her  Saint  Gennaro,  so  'tis  said, 

Turned  off  the  peril  from  her  head, 

And  hurled  far  south  the  fiery  tide, 

Where  towns  were  sunk,  and  thousands  died. 

So  reads  the  pictured  tablet,  set 


*  This  favorite  symbol  of  the  Neapolitans  is  repeated  no  less 
than  eight  times,  in  large  relief,  on  the  walls  of  the  Theatre  of 
San  Carlo. 


NAPLES. 


17 


By  the  old  market-square,  which  yet 
Tells  of  the  tumults  it  has  seen, — 
Masaniello's  rabble  mean, 
And  thy  sharp  fate,  O  noble  Conradin !  * 
I  saw  —  'twas  at  the  annual  feast 
Of  the  Deliverer  —  saw  his  priest 
Hand  round  the  blood,  not  liquid  now, 
And  press  its  vase  to  lip  and  brow 
Of  coming  crowds.    The  chapel  shrine 
Blazed  with  its  lights ;  and  to  their  shine 
Rich  silver  shapes,  of  sculpture  rare, 
Gleamed  through  the  incense  of  the  air. 

A  city  full  of  life !    But,  oh, 

What  life  ?    It  must  be  seen  to  know. 

A  dreary  penury  of  aught 

To  glad  the  sense  or  lift  the  thought. 


*  In  the  church  Santa  Maria  del  Carmine,  which  overlooks  the 
Square,  stands  a  beautiful  statue  of  the  unfortunate  prince,  mod- 
elled by  Thorwaldsen. 

2 


NAPLES. 


What  form  can  show,  what  manner  please, 

What  clean  thing  live,  in  ways  like  these  ? 

I  eye  no  honest  dirt  askance, 

But  ask  one  inch  for  elegance. 

If  Italy  be  fair  of  show, 

Its  people  scarcely  make  it  so ; 

But  here,  it  is  as  if  its  scum 

Had  slunk  into  a  general  home. 

I  speak  not  of  the  beggar-crowd, 

Or  shameless  vice,  abroad  and  loud, 

Or  a  large  class  in  squalor  laid, 

Which  happiest  lands  must  bear  and  aid ; 

But  try  the  common  mould  to  trace, 

And  read  "  Ignoble  "  in  its  face. 

Italian  beauty  poorly  strives 

Here  to  find  representatives. 

Few  can  be  seen,  in  form  or  face, 

Expressive  look  or  moving  grace; 

The  beauties  of  the  lovely  bay 

Are  all  the  charms  that  bear  to  stay. 


NAPLES. 


Poor  Mola's  humble  streets  unfold 
More  than  all  Naples  seems  to  hold. 

Naples !    If  that  great  Providence, 
To  this  weak  hour  my  strong  defence, 
Will  bring  me  safe  from  thine  abode, 
I  leave  this  blessing  on  the  road : 
May  the  pent  fire,  that  smokes  from  earth 
And  gave  thy  proud  volcano  birth ; 
That  heats  the  baths  at  Baise  found, 
From  boiling  gulfs  far  underground; 
That  roars  abroad  its  warning  note 
From  Solfatara's  hellish  throat, — 
Restrain  its  wrath !    That  Titan  might 
"Which  reared  a  mountain  in  a  night, 
Raise  no  such  peak  within  thy  gates, 
Till  doomed  so  by  yet  distant  Fates ! 
And  thou,  aloft  in  sulphurous  air, 
This  noisy  nest,  Destroyer,  spare ! 

Naples,  Dec.  18,  1859. 


20 


ROME  IN  HEXAMETERS. 


ROME  IN  HEXAMETERS. 

1860. 

"  O  Rome  ! "  no  "  country  "  of  mine ;  no  "  city  of 

the  soul,"  to  my  thinking. 
You  boast  the  enormous  wrecks  of  luxury  long 

since  departed, 
And  of  the  idol  worships,  —  all  dead,  like  the  people 

who  paid  them, — 
And  the  ferocious  Arena,  that  made  you  the  horror 

of  nations. 

Why  see  not  that  you  yourself  are  only  traditions 
and  leavings? 

Daily  you  dig  into  tombs  and  ashes  of  past  gener- 
ations : 

When  will  you  rise  from  the  grave  of  dusty  and 
puerile  legends? 

When  will  you  snap  the  withes  of  a  priest's  de- 
crepit dominion. 


ROME  IN  HEXAMETERS. 


21 


All  the  world  rings  with  the  praise  of  your  gor- 
geous churches.    So  let  it. 

But  there's  a  different  voice,  that  has  something  to 
say  on  its  own  side. 

Santa  Maria  Maggior'  and  San  Giovan'  Laterano, 

And  that  latest  wasteful  show,  San  Paolo  "  fuori  le 
mura,"  — 

Basilicas  call  them,  and  well ;  or  galleries  of  art,  I 
will  walk  there ; 

But  churches,  temples  for  solemn  thought  and  hum- 
ble devotion,  — 

Much  is  there  wanting  to  that.  And  thou,  O  won- 
drous St.  Peter's ! 

How  can  I  call  thee  the  "  ark  of  worship,"  worthi- 
est the  Godhead  ? 

So  vast  thou  art,  that  he  who  would  learn  to  feel 
all  thy  vastness 

Must  from  far  Tivoli  gaze.  There  mark,  from  the 
ridges  of  olives, 

How  all  majestic  Rome  lies  sunk  behind  the  hori- 
zon ; 


22 


ROME  IN  HEXAMETERS. 


Only  that  matchless  dome  breaks  across  the  level 
Campagna, 

Most  like  a  gallant  ship  sailing  over  the  waste  of 
the  waters. 

Come  now  within  the  nave.  How  huge!  how 
symmetric !  how  splendid ! 

But  where  is  the  spirit -life  of  deep  religious  ex- 
pression ? 

What  does  it  say  to  the  heart,  and  to  all  that  is 

highest  within  us? 
Built  to  the  praise  and  glory  of  Popes,  the  dead 

and  the  dying, 
Little  it  tells  of  the  Father  who  evermore  shall  be, 

and  shall  be.* 
Little  it  shows  of  Christ,  humanity's  guide  and 

consoler. 

Paintings  in  shining  stone,  and  marbles  more  than 
palatial ; 

*  "  Heilig  ist,  heilig,  heilig,  Der  der  seyn  wird,  und  seyn  wird." 

Klopstock's  Messiah. 


ROME  IN  HEXAMETERS. 


23 


Statues  gigantic,  with  forms  not  always  becoming 
to  show  there ; 

Columns  of  twisted  bronze,  arch,  shrine,  and  monu- 
ments priceless, 

Deck  a  colossal  toy;  —  less  a  toy,  for  all  that  it 
measures  ? 

Leda's  swan  we  may  trace  on  the  lofty  doors  at 

the  entrance ; 
Far  within,  a  statue  reclines,  so  richly  profane  in 

its  beauty, 

New  art  has  draped  the  form  of  the  first  bold  artist's 
conception. 

An  idol  Jove,  it  is  said,  makes  the  equal  idol  St. 
Peter. 

The  apostle  was  never  in  Rome,  if  we  heed  what 
the  learned  have  told  us: 

What  would  he  think,  if  now  he  could  see  his  pre- 
tended successor 

Storming,  with  pillage  and  death,  the  town*  that 
would  none  of  his  kingship ; 


*  Perugia. 


24 


ROME  IN  HEXAMETERS. 


Darting  at  princes  and  peoples  the  flash  of  his 

theatre-lightning ; 
Palanquined,  and  be-peacocked  and  crowned  with 

his  triple  tiara  ? 

Rome,  dear  to  the  studious  and  curious,  —  the 
scholar,  artist,  and  poet, — 

What  city  is  loaded  like  you  with  stern  and  mourn- 
ful reflections  ? 

Farewell !  I  regret  you  not.  Enough  of  your 
catacombs,  "  scavi," 

Columbarias,  crypts,  and  vaults,  and  all  your  un- 
derground gropings. 

Enough  of  your  mounting  steps,  two  hundred  and 
more  to  a  staircase ; 

Of  inscriptions  hard  to  read,  and  far  too  many  to 
compass ; 

Of  Forum  ruins,  that  changed  half  their  names 

since  last  I  beheld  them ; 
Of  facts  that  never  took  place,  and  things  not  what 

they  would  pass  for. 


ROME  IN  HEXAMETERS.  25 

Enough  of  your  mendicant  crowds,  and  Beppo,  the 

king  of  the  beggars ; 
Your  Carnival's  childish  sport,  and  solemn  papal 

processions. 

"  Loggie  "  of  Raphael  no  more  shall  wear  out  the 

patience  of  eyesight, 
Nor  Michael's  blurred  and  confused  monstrosity 

there  in  the  "  Sistine." 
No  more  of  your  damp,  narrow  streets,  that  scarce 

feel  the  ray  of  the  noontide ; 
No  more  of  the  spirit's  chill  from  the  breadths  of 

your  desolate  places. 

O  Rome,  be  more  just  to  the  invalid!*  Tempt 
him  not  hither, 

To  toil  up  the  steps  of  your  dark,  cold  stones  for 
the  purchase  of  sunshine ; 

While  palace,  gallery,  and  church  are  full  of  dis- 
comfort and  danger. 


*  Theodore  Parker. 


26       ILLUMINATION  OF  THE  CITY  OF  FLORENCE. 

Go  on  to  your  destined  end,  with  no  part  in  the 

progress  of  nations ! 
A  new  Apocalypse  Vision  now  bears  its  burden 

against  you. 

See !  Rome  of  the  Caesars  fell.     Hark !  cracks  in 
the  Rome  of  the  Pontiffs. 


ILLUMINATION  OF  THE  CITY  OF 
FLORENCE. 

March  29,  1860. 

High  festival  in  Florence ! 

For  her  Piedmont  Prince  has  come; 
And  the  idle  city's  shouting 

Drowns  the  working  city's  hum. 

And  all  day  long  a  festal  throng 

Has  poured  into  the  street, 
The  new-born  hopes  of  Tuscany 

To  look  upon,  and  greet ; 


ILLUMINATION  OF  THE  CITY  OF  FLORENCE. 

With  tapestries  from  windows, 
And  flags  from  every  wall,  — 

Though  scant  the  aid  of  war-parade, 
Drum,  cannon,  trumpet-call ; 

But  patriot  songs  were  in  the  air, 
And  green  boughs  in  the  hand, 

To  hail  the  Lily  City 

Of  a  duke-expelling  land. 

Lo,  now  the  night !  and  rows  of  light 
Shot  forth  their  level  beam  ; 

And  Ponte  Vecchio's  arches  span 
With  fire  the  Arno  stream. 

Fiesole  is  sparkling 

From  her  most  distant  height, 
And  San  Miniato's  holy  steep 

Reveals  a  lovely  sight : 


ILLUMINATION  OF  THE  CITY  OF  FLORENCE. 


Her  solemn  church  looks  smiling 
From  its  station  near  and  high, 

Where  Michael  Angelo's  battered  tower 
Burns  its  image  on  the  sky. 

The  ribs  of  Brunelleschi's  dome 

Are  rounded  out  in  flame, 
That  tracks  the  long  sweep  of  that  pile 

Of  beauty  and  of  fame. 

Come  to  the  fortress-palace 

In  the  proud  grand-ducal  square, 

And  gaze  upon  the  lordly  tower 
And  its  strange  lustre  there. 

A  sight  of  wonder !    For  the  lamps, 
From  the  hollow  of  their  cup, 

Throw  their  illuminating  power 
Not  round  and  wide,  but  up ; 


ILLUMINATION  OF  THE  CITY  OF  FLORENCE. 


So  that  the  wall's  grim  thickness 
Transparent  seemed  to  be, 

As  if  some  inward  glow  stole  through 
All  fairy-like  to  see ; 

While  battlement  and  column, 
E'en  to  the  topmost  stone, 

And  the  deep  machicolations, 
In  starry  splendor  shone. 

The  lights  grew  pale  at  midnight, 
And  at  daybreak  they  were  gone ; 

But  on  the  climbing  lion's  staff 
The  Union  flag  waved  on. 

Be  it  so  with  thee,  Etruria, 

In  this  thy  joyous  hour ; 
And  more  than  flashed  in  festival 

Be  riveted  in  power ! 


30 


HOSPEXTHAL. 


A  power  that,  but  to  shield  and  bless, 
Shall  spread  its  ample  fold, 

But  for  the  right  its  tricolor 
And  silver  cross  unrolled. 

And,  oh,  may  hopes  of  noble  hearts, 

For  Italia  free  and  one, 
Not  fail  like  those  poor  cressets, 

But  beam  a  steady  sun ! 


HOSPENTHAL. 


Full  dawn  upon  the  heights  of  St.  Gothard ! 

Wild  Nature  and  rude  Life ! 
And  close-heaped  dwellings  where  few  comforts  are 

Seemed  with  them  both  at  strife. 

The  desolate  church  spoke  little  to  the  soul ; 

And  yet  its  claim  would  put, 
When  the  quaint  round-tower  on  its  rocky  knoll 

Invited  not  the  foot. 


HOSPENTHAL. 


31 


The  stranger  entered,  peering  dimly  round ; 

No  being  met  his  sight ; 
No  sign  of  motion  and  no  breath  of  sound 

Stirred  in  that  early  light. 

He  walked  and  gazed  and  mused  awhile,  when,  look  ! 

In  funeral  trappings  dressed, 
A  child  its  last  mysterious  slumber  took, 

Christ's  emblems  on  its  breast. 

Close  by  the  altar's  steps  they  laid  it  out,  — 

Out  from  all  harm  and  dearth,  — 
And  nearer  than  elsewhere,  they  did  not  doubt, 

To  the  God  of  heaven  and  earth. 

He  was  not  now  alone ;  the  newly  dead 

A  strange,  sad  presence  made, 
Which  all  night  long  its  unheard  lesson  read, 

Through  the  deep  double  shade. 


32 


FESTIVAL  OF  ST.  AGNES. 


No,  not  alone :  lo,  spirits  back  from  the  Lord, 

A  loved,  lamented  crowd  ! 
He  bent,  like  Jacob,  o'er  his  staff,  and  poured 

His  matin-prayer  aloud. 


FESTIVAL  OF  ST.  AGNES, 
AT  HER  CHURCH  WITHOUT  THE  WALLS. 

"  0  virgo  felix,  O  nova  gloria, 
Coelestis  arcis  nobilis  incola." 

Inscription  over  the  Tribune. 

0  quaintest  and  most  ancient  fane, 
Whose  simple  beauty  rears 

The  memory  of  a  pure  life  slain, 
Through  thrice  five  hundred  years ! 

1  journey  down  the  stairs'  long  line 

Beneath  the  hollow  ground ; 
For  what  I  deemed  the  dusky  shrine 
Of  holy  Agnes  bound. 


FESTIVAL  OF  ST.  AGNES. 


33 


But  the  half-buried  church  is  bright 
With  many  a  candle's  ray, 

And  windows  high  pour  on  the  sight 
The  purer  blaze  of  day. 

Nothing  is  dark  or  saddening  there, 

Nothing  is  worn  or  old ; 
Lo !  colors  rich  and  marbles  rare, 

And  virgin  white  and  gold. 

No  faded  frescoes  stain  the  wall, 
No  blackened  paintings  grim ; 

'Twas  glittering  as  a,  festival, 
And  warming  as  a  hymn. 

The  sculptured  Maid  within  her  arm 

Her  typic  lamb  caressed  ; 
While  music,  with  its  living  charm, 

The  silent  pageant  blest. 

3  , 


34 


FESTIVAL  OF  ST.  AGNES. 


And,  see,  two  lambs  to  the  altar  brought ! 

Not  for  a  victim's  fate, 
But  to  express  a  gentle  thought, 

And  to  be  consecrate. 

Thus,  yearly,  keeps  this  ancient  fane, 
With  garlands,  light,  and  song, 

The  memory  of  one  pure  life  slain, 
So  tenderly  and  long. 

And  thus,  without  the  Roman  wall, 

To  all  the  world  it  saith : 
"  Behold  what  shining  honors  fall 

Round  Innocence  and  Faith ! " 


Jan.  21,  1860. 


BOSTON  IN  LINCOLNSHIRE. 

BOSTON 
IN  LINCOLNSHIRE. 

It  is  not  for  what  you  are  or  do, 

Or  for  any  treasures  rare, 
That  I  turn  my  steps  and  heart  to  you ; 

But  for  the  name  you  bear. 

Ancestral  name !  that  must  cross  the  sea, 

Its  farthest  fame  to  know ; 
And  to  other  soil  transplanted  be, 

That  its  proudest  branch  might  grow. 

It  is  not  that  your  minster  pile 
Looks  proudly  towards  the  deep ; 

The  loftiest  of  all  Britain's  isle 
In  valley  or  on  steep. 


BOSTON  IN  LINCOLNSHIRE. 


But  that  beneath  that  lordly  tower 

A  simple  chapel  stands, 
Which  binds  with  an  atoning  power 

Two  great  and  kindred  lands. 

In  days  long  gone,  it  caught  the  sound 
Of  Cotton's  earnest  tongue ; 

Now  freshly  is  his  memory  found 
His  wonted  haunts  among. 

Prelatic  England  drove  him  forth 

Beyond  the  Western  main ; 
Free-thoughted  England  owns  his  worth, 

And  bids  him  back  again. 

Back  in  the  name  the  chapel  wears,  — 

Proscribed,  and  then  forgot. 
That  tablet's  face  more  than  repairs 

The  honors  of  the  spot. 


BOSTON  IN  LINCOLNSHIRE. 


37 


For  here  from  far  the  inscription  came 
By  our  statesman-scholar  sent, 

Reading,  "  Lest  longer  such  a  name 
Should  stay  in  banishment."  * 

The  brazen  plate,  so  simply  grand, 

Is  framed  in  Norman  stone; 
The  characters  from  English  land, 

The  writer  from  our  own. 

Stand,  of  forgotten  feuds  the  sign, 

*And  the  world's  brighter  age, 
Within  this  reconciling  shrine, 
Thou  quaintly  graven  page ! 

Say,  that  henceforth  the  soul's  full  thought 

Need  not  in  silence  die ; 
Nor  one  true  man,  all  conscience  fraught, 

Must  suffer  or  must  fly. 


*  "  Ne  tanti  viri  nomen  diutius  exularet." 


38 


BOSTON  IN  LINCOLNSHIRE. 


Say,  that  two  sovereign  powers  unite, 

Each  on  her  ocean  shore, 
To  keep  faith,  friendship,  freedom,  bright 

Henceforth  for  evermore. 

Hail  and  farewell,  St.  Butolph's  fane, 
Seen  in  my  thoughts  so  long ! 

They  failed  to  span  your  broad  domain, 
And  did  your  grandeur  wrong. 

Hail  and  farewell,  St.  Butolph's  town ! 

How  dear  is  that  parent  name ! 
'Tis  a  well-favored  brow  I  crown 

With  that  auspicious  claim. 

July,  1860. 


HOMEWARD  FROM  FOREIGN  LANDS. 


HOMEWARD 
FROM  FOREIGN  LANDS. 

"  Then  I  said,  I  shall  die  in  my  nest." 

Job  xxix.  18. 

There  are  they  who  have  left  their  sweet  home, 
Through  these  strange,  distant  places  to  roam, 
And  no  more  back,  no  more,  ever  come ; 
And  T  sigh,  with  their  memory  oppressed, 
"  Let  me  die  in  my  nest." 

"When  the  troubles  of  nature  are  rife, 
And  the  heart  with  itself  is  at  strife, 
For  then  Death  is  in  conflict  with  Life, 
I  submit  to  the  sovereign  behest, 
But  would  die  in  my  nest. 


40 


HOMEWARD  FROM  FOREIGN  LANDS. 


Where  within  me  the  first  thoughts  were  dreamed, 
And  upon  me  Affection  first  beamed, 
And  through  blossoms  and  tears  my  spring  teemed  ; 
Amid  scenes  and  companions  loved  best, 
I  would  die  in  my  nest. 

Not  in  lands  with  a  speech  not  my  own, 
Where  the  sights  that  are  newest  look  lone ; 
But  where  all  most  familiar  had  grown 
To  my  eyes  and  the  throbs  of  my  breast,  — 
Shall  I  die  in  that  nest  ? 

They  will  say,  "  It  is  one  to  the  wise 
From  what  country  the  freed  spirit  flies, 
For  the  way  is  the  same  to  the  skies ; "  — 
Truths  to  faith  and  to  reason  addressed,  — 
But  alas !  for  the  nest. 

Oh,  methinks  it  would  glad  the  last  gaze, 
To  be  circled  with  friends  of  old  days, 


HOMEWARD  FROM  FOREIGN  LANDS. 

And  the  spots  that  are  gilt  with  the  rays 
That  stream  from  the  sun  of  the  West 
O'er  the  down  of  my  nest ! 

And  I  hear  a  propitious  decree ; 
And  the  blessing  I  hoped  for  shall  be ; 
For  I  smell  the  wide  air  of  the  sea. 
There  is  land  o'er  the  waves'  foamy  crest : 
"  I  shall  die  in  my  nest." 


HOMILIES  IN  YERSE. 


HOMILIES  IN  YERSE. 


i. 

"  ARISE  AND  EAT." 

"Arise  and  eat,  because  the  journey  is  too  great  for  thee." 

1  Kings  xix.  7. 

"  The  journey  is  too  great  for  thee," 

The  prophet  heard ; 
And  all  may  list  in  secrecy 

The  self-same  word. 

Life's  way  and  work  lie  forward  spread 

In  Duty's  sight ; 
And  who  but  needs  more  strength  to  stead, 

And  fuller  light? 


"  ARISE  AND  EAT/' 


And  grant  no  lack  of  view  or  force,  — 

We  faint  in  will ; 
And  so  the  sweep  of  that  great  course 

We  fail  to  fill. 

The  weary  tracts  of  pain  and  grief 
Will  stretch  far  through, 

Till  the  flesh  sinks  beyond  relief, 
And  the  heart  too. 

The  tangled  paths  of  many  a  care 

Wind  slow  about ; 
And  straight  in  front,  lo !  flinty  fare 

And  foggy  doubt ; 

And  hindrances  the  firmest  tread 

Will  oft  beset ; 
And  perils  with  a  deeper  dread 

The  dear  life  threat. 


"ARISE  AND  EAT." 

"  The  journey  is  too  great  for  thee  " ! 

Beyond  the  bounds 
Where  Time  parts  from  Immensity 

Its  measured  grounds. 

Oh,  then  that  other  word  attend ! 

Its  offer  meet ;  — 
The  calling  of  an  angel-friend : 

"  Arise  and  eat." 

Eat  of  the  fruits  of  holy  trust 

In  heavenly  good; 
Not  grown  of  dust,  to  mould  to  dust, 

But  angels'  food. 

That  food  shall  nerve  both  limb  and  heart 

When  faint  with  fear ; 
And  pour  through  each  immortal  part 

Its  power  and  cheer. 


"WASH  YE  ONE  ANOTHER'S  FEET." 

Thus,  girt  with  zeal,  the  travelling  soul, 

With  patience  shod, 
Arrives  at  Horeb's  distant  goal, 

The  mount  of  God. 


n. 

WASH  YE  ONE  ANOTHER'S  FEET." 

"  Wash  ye  one  another's  feet," 
Speaks  the  Lord  from  his  high  seat, 
As  he  spoke  long  years  before 
On  that  upper  chamber's  floor, 
When  he,  with  a  bowing  knee, 
Taught  the  twelve  who  first  should  be. 
Not  the  bold  all  things  to  dare 
For  power  to  win  and  crowns  to  wear ; 
Not  the  strong  though  liberal  doer, 
Of  a  generous  praise  the  wooer, 
Making  worthy  acts  the  pleas 
To  be  called  "  Evergetes." 


"  WASH  YE  ONE  ANOTHER'S  FEET." 


49 


Not  the  rich,  who  proudly  throws 
Largesses  from  what  he  owes 
To  poor  and  sick  and  halt  and  blind, 
And  all  the  claims  of  human  kind; 
Not  the  lordliest  in  his  state, 
With  princes  at  his  palace-gate : 
He  has  shown  us  who  are  his, 
By  the  lowliest  offices. 

"  Wash  ye  one  another's  feet? 
Service  but  for  menials  meet." 
So  we  judge,  and  so  we  say,  — 
And  so  far  from  him  astray, 
Who  made  clients  of  the  weak, 
Speaking  as  none  e'er  could  speak. 
Friendly  help  and  service  wide 
Oft  we  sully  with  our  pride ; 
Loving,  while  we  aid,  to  show; 
And  as  betters  to  bestow. 
Stooping,  as  not  condescending, 
Is  the  truest  of  befriending; 

4 


"WASH  YE  ONE  ANOTHER'S  FEET." 


And  the  Master's  praise  is  writ 
On  the  humblest  benefit, 
As  the  kneeling  service  shines 
With  diamonds  from  spirit-mines. 

"  Not  feet  only,"  Peter  said ; 

"  Bat  my  hands,  Lord,  and  my  head." 

No :  the  feet  alone  have  need, 

Stained  with  dust  or  strained  with  speed. 

For  the  rest,  himself  must  care, 

Or  the  fault  is  his  to  bear. 

List  the  lessons  that  are  here, 
Overlooked,  but  simple,  clear. 
Let  your  hand  be  there  alert, 
Where  one's  own  is  inexpert, 
Strength  least  able,  sight  most  dim,  — 
There  go  minister  to  him. 
But  of  doing  that  take  heed, 
Which  should  be  his  own  free  deed : 


"THINE  EYES  SHALL  SEE  THE  KING. 


51 


Meaning  good,  but  working  ill, 
You  may  lame  and  laze  his  will ; 
Leading  towards  that  wretched  end, — 
To  be  shiftless,  and  depend*. 

So  this  Christian  story  holds 
Wisdom  in  its  slenderest  folds ; 
From  one  action's  little  span 
Counselling  the  world  of  man. 
Paris,  Ascension  Day,  1860,  May  17. 


m. 

«  THINE  EYES  SHALL  SEE  THE  KING." 

"  Thine  eyes  shall  see  the  King  in  his  beauty, 
And  the  land  that  is  very  far  off." 

Isaiah  xxxiii.  17. 

Stand  thou  but  clad  and  begirt  for  thy  duty, 
Till  all  vestures  of  Time  thou  must  doff; 

Then  thine  eyes  shall  see  the  King  in  his  beauty, 
And  the  land  that  is  very  far  off. 


52  "THINE  EYES  SHALL  SEE  THE  KING." 


Not  "  they  shall  see  the  King  in  his  glory,"  — 
'Twere  more  than  those  eyes  might  bide; 

His  face  bears  the  touch  of  a  mortal  story, 
And  'twas  love  that  scarred  his  side. 

As  far  away  from  thought  as  appearance 
Lie  the  scenes  of  that  prophet  clime ; 

Behind  these  mountains  of  interference, 
Beyond  these  rivers  of  Time. 

We  wander  in  error  and  weakness  and  vanity, 
No  courage  to  move,  and  no  patience  to  stand  : 

When  shall  we  see  that  King  of  humanity, 
And  tread  his  invisible  land  ? 

Now,  in  the  broad  high  places  of  Feeling ; 

Now,  in  kind,  self-forgetting  Deeds, — 
There  lie  the  realms  of  the  Spirit's  revealing; 

This  is  the  lesson  the  Spirit  reads. 

Zurich,  August  19. 


"  CAST  THY  BREAD  UPON  THE  WATERS."  53 


IY. 


"CAST  THY  BREAD  UPON  THE 
WATERS." 

"  Cast  thy  bread  upon  the  waters ; 
For  thou  shalt  find  it  after  many  days." 

Eccl.  xi.  1. 

I. 

Cast  thy  bread  upon  the  waters, 
Food  for  Penury's  sons  and  daughters ; 
Nor  on  its  drowning  crumbs  mistrustful  gaze, 
For  thou  shalt  find  it  after  many  days. 

Sail  thine  aid  across  the  billows, 
For  famished  mouths  and  fevered  pillows ; 
Then  watch  it  back  over  those  streetless  ways, 
For  thou  shalt  find  it  after  many  days. 

Sink  thy  corn  within  the  furrow 
Of  labor  faithful,  patience  thorough ; 
And  trust  it  to  great  Nature's  drops  and  rays, 
For  thou  shalt  find  it  after  many  days. 


54         "  CAST  THY  BREAD  UPON  THE  WATERS." 


Fix  Life's  purpose  steady ;  never 
Turn  thee  from  its  keen  endeavor ; 
The  prize  is  reached  through  baffles  and  delays, 
And  thou  shalt  find  it  after  many  days. 


n. 

Not  the  aid  which  thou  bestowest ; 

Not  the  very  seed  thou  sowest ; 
Not  just  the  prize  thy  doting  heart  portrays, — 
Thou  wilt  not  find  these  after  many  days. 

Nobler  stores  and  growths  and  prizes 

Lie  in  what  the  soul  devises  ; 
For  this  hath  spheres  that  show  no  waning  phase, 
Nor  own  dependence  on  these  mortal  days. 

Crave  from  Fortune  no  indenture ; 

Boldly  on,  and  venture,  venture ! 
Who  scants  his  pains  and  risks  for  heavenly  praise, 
Finds  naught  but  pains  and  losses  all  his  days. 


MORNING. 


55 


Trust !    Let  not  weak  Expectation 
Take  the  place  of  that  strong  station  : 
The  peace  that's  free  from  this  world's  hurt  and 
craze 

Thou'lt  find  above,  where  there  are  no  more  days. 


V. 

MORNING. 

"  And  Samuel  lay  until  the  morning,  and  then  opened  the  doors 
of  the  house  of  the  Lord."  —  1  Sam.  iii.  15. 

Open  the  doors  of  the  house  your  home  ; 
Bid  the  fresh  air  and  the  sun,  "  Welcome." 
There's  no  need  of  the  caution  that  kept  the  bars 
tight, 

For  the  prowlers  have  fled  at  the  presence  of  light ; 
Lo !  the  phantoms  of  dreams  can  no  longer  affright, 
And  the  weeping  of  sorrow  endures  but  a  night : 
Open  the  doors  of  the  house. 


56  MORNING. 

Open  the  doors  of  the  house  of  the  senses : 
Hence  the  dull  mufflers,  no  more  their  defences ! 
Upon  Nature  and  Life  open  widely  your  eyes, 
And  your  ears  to  their  speech  and  their  melodies ; 
Taste  and  Smell  run  along  the  live  web  of  their 
ties, 

And  the  cells  of  the  Touch  feel  their  magic  sup- 
plies : 

Open  the  doors  of  the  house. 

Open  the  doors  of  the  house  of  the  Lord ! 

Reason  and  Liberty  wake  restored. 
Let  the  soul  now  a  nobler  career  begin, 
With  more  love  to  show  and  more  worth  to  win. 
Banish  out  every  spirit  to  darkness  akin ; 
Let  the  guests  and  the  angels  come  trooping  in : 

Open  the  doors  of  the  house. 


HYMNS. 


HYMNS. 


L 

for  the  ordination  of  mr.  edward  j.  young  as  pastor 
of  the  channing  congregation  church  in  newton, 
june  18,  1857. 

The  Bible's  storied  page, — 

How  clear  its  pictures  rise, 
Glow  in  the  heart  of  every  age,  • 

And  moisten  in  its  eyes ! 

The  Bible's  poet-strain 

Flows  forth  in  truths  divine : 
Before  it  but  in  dusky  wane 

Earth's  proudest  fictions  shine. 


HYMNS. 


The  Bible's  lighted  law, 

And  promise  from  above! 
What  mortal  word  so  strikes  with  awe, 

So  sanctifies  with  love  ? 

This  is  the  Word  we  preach ; 

The  Word  that's  here  ordained 
With  healing  aid  the  soul  to  reach, 

When  weak  and  sore  and  strained. 

Oh,  bless  thy  servant,  Lord, 

Now  humbly  set  apart 
To  meditate  and  press  this  Word 

With  mind  and  will  and  heart ! 

And  on  thy  people  here 

Thy  Spirit-seal  impress, 
In  reverent  hope  and  holy  cheer, 

In  faith  and  righteousness. 


HYMNS. 
II. 

FOR  THE  CHILDREN.     JAN.   22,  1858. 

The  children,  from  the  mothers'  arms, 
Within  the  Saviour's  arms  were  pressed ; 

Thus  doubly  screened  from  fears  and  harms, 
Devoutly  brought,  divinely  blessed. 

The  children  in  the  temple  cried 

Hosanna  to  Messiah,  King ; 
And  he  who  blessed  them  justified 

The  homage  which  they  sought  to  bring. 

We  all  are  children,  Father,  now,  — 

All  ignorant  and  of  yesterday ; 
And  orphan  children,  but  that  Thou 

Our  souls  shalt  on  thy  bosom  lay. 

And  while,  with  lowliest  worship,  still 
Our  glad  but  solemn  hymns  we  raise, 

That  ancient  word  to  us  fulfil,  — 

From  feeblest  lips  "  ordaining  praise." 


62 


HYMNS. 


III. 

SUNG    IN    THE    FEDERAL-STREET    MEETING-HOUSE,    ON  THE 
LAST   SUNDAY  OF  ITS  USE  FOR  PUBLIC  WORSHIP, 
MARCH  13,  1859. 

Farewell,  ye  walls !  though,  in  your  sacred  square, 

The  feet  of  many  a  saint  have  loved  to  walk ; 
Farewell,  ye  walls !  though  through  your  charmed 
air, 

Echoes,  and  more  than  echoes,  seem  to  talk. 

Oh !  not  within  the  house  that  man  has  reared, 
Or  man  has  hallowed,  is  God's  Spirit  bound : 

It  runs  and  sanctifies,  adored,  endeared ; 
For  ever  present  and  sufficient  found. 

Nor  let  us  think,  that  all  the  fervid  speech 

The  preacher  utters  when  his  triumphs  come, 

Has  more  of  human  worth,  or  heavenly  reach, 
Than  the  heart's  prayer  that  rises  and  is  dumb. 


HYMNS. 


63 


We  thank  thee,  Father,  for  thy  good  gifts  here, 
In  spoken  word  and  feeling  unexpressed : 

Let  thy  full  grace  be,  as  aforetime,  near; 

Go  with  our  steps,  and  lodge  where'er  we  rest. 

Now  lift  the  ark,  God's  testimonial  sign, 
May  union  hold  it  by  its  golden  rings ; 

His  law  laid  up  within  its  awful  shrine, 

Its  lid  arched  over  with  the  cherubs'  wings ! 


IV. 


FOR   THE   UNITARIAN  FESTIVAL,  MUSIC  HALL,  MAY  2-1,  1859. 


What  blessings  rare  surround, 
In  every  widening  bound, 
Our  own  dear  land  ! 
While  the  old  hemisphere 


HYMNS. 


Rings  battle  on  the  ear, 
We  sing  our  mercies  here, 
A  social  band. 

Lord,  thy  best  gifts  increase ! 
Our  freedom,  safety,  peace, 

Rest  in  thy  hand. 
We  ask  for  that  success 
Which  leans  on  righteousness, 
And  so  alone  can  bless,  — 

A  reverent  band. 

Lo,  Spring  with  songs  and  flowers 
Earth  blooms  in  all  her  bowers, 

With  beauty  spanned. 
These  glories  we  would  greet 
WTith  thoughts  as  rich  and  sweet, 
While  here  we  warmly  meet, 

A  festive  band. 


HYMNS. 


65 


A  household  faith  we  own 
Before  a  Father's  throne: 

In  that  we  stand. 
His  will  we  humbly  trace, 
With  thanks  for  all  his  grace, 
And  love  to  all  our  race,  — 

A  Christian  band. 


V. 

FOR  THE  DEDICATION  OF   THE  HOUSE   OF  WORSHIP   OF  THE 
THIRD  UNITARIAN  SOCIETY,  NEW  YORK,  DEC.  25,  1863. 

One  Father,  God,  we  own ; 

One  Spirit  evermore  ; 
One  Christ,  with  manger,  cross,  and  throne, 

The  Light,  the  Way,  the  Door. 

In  souls  we  hail  his  birth ; 

'Tis  now  he  comes  again: 
His  kingdom  is  the  convert  earth, 

His  Church  all  faithful  men. 

5 


HYMNS. 


The  Scriptures  thus  we  read  ; 

Of  strangest  powers  compiled, 
To  mould  the  heart,  and  clear  the  creed 

Of  earth's  frail,  clouded  child. 

Its  essence,  not  its  writ, 

Our  sovereign  rule  we  call ; 
Not  fastening  down  all  truth  to  it, 

But  widening  it  to  all. 

With  this  free  reverence,  Lord, 

In  Christly  church  estate, 
With  earnest,  brotherly  accord, 

These  walls  we  dedicate. 

To  prayer  and  holy  thought ; 

Affections  set  above ; 
To  faiths  from  highest  fountains  brought, 

And  works  of  widest  love. 


HYMNS. 


67 


Thy  presence,  Father,  make 

The  refuge  and  supply ; 
And  for  thy  Truth  and  Mercy's  sake 

Build  on,  and  sanctify. 


VI. 

FOR    THE    FIFTIETH    ANNIVERSARY    OF    THE    DEDICATION  OF 
NEW  SOUTH  CHURCH,  DEC.  25,  1864. 

What  sacred  thoughts  awake ! 

What  dear  affections  flow ! 
We  read  how  much  they  give  and  take, 

These  years  that  come  and  go. 

The  voices  that  we  hear 

Long  died  in  turn  away ; 
And  forms  removed  from  mortal  sphere 

Sit  shadowy  round  to-day. 


HYMNS. 

O  God,  the  Shepherd!  Thou 

Art  evermore  the  same  : 
Thy  staff  is  comfort  here  and  now, 

And  guiding  is  thy  name. 

The  New  Year  soon  again 

Rolls  up  its  growing  sun ; 
The  Church  has  joined  the  shining  twain, 

That  orb  and  Christ,  —  in  one. 

Shine  on,  O  twofold  beam ! 

Spread  cheer,  good- will,  and  trust : 
Be  Christ  the  light,  when  dates  are  dream 

And  builded  earth  is  dust. 


HYMNS. 


69 


VII. 

FOR  THE  UNITED  COMMUNION  SERVICE  AT  HOLLIS-STREET 
CHURCH,  MAY  27,  1866. 

Communion  when  we  meet 

Around  this  loaf  and  wine, 
With  memory  for  its  lowly  seat, 

And  love  its  lofty  sign. 

Communion  when  we  part : 
It  ne'er  can  shrink  nor  break ; 

For,  Saviour,  all  thou  wast  thou  art, 
And  always  for  our  sake. 

Communion  every  hour 

With  all  that's  good  and  true  ; 

Its  food,  —  we  taste  its  constant  power ; 
Its  joy,  —  "  we  drink  it  new." 


HYMNS. 


And  what  of  bitter  bread, 

Of  cups  that  sorrows  be, 
When  courage  shall  lift  up  the  head, 

And  patience  bow  the  knee  ? 

And  when,  life's  troubles  past, 

Its  glories  but  a  mist, 
Then,  Father,  may  we  spread  our  last, 

Our  lowliest,  eucharist. 


VIII. 

FOR  THE  LAYING  THE  CORNER-STONE  OF  A  CHURCH 
APRIL  4,  1867. 

On  what  were  built  these  worlds  of  sight, 
With  solid  walls  and  shafts  of  light : 
When  morning  stars  and  sons  of  God 
Sang  forth  to  hail  man's  first  abode  ? 


HYMNS. 


O  Spirit  of  the  worlds  unseen, 
Where  only  minds  and  souls  have  been ! 
To  more  than  mortal  sense  make  known 
Thy  gracious  face,  thy  righteous  throne. 

O  Church  of  Christ!  our  sign  and  stay 
Through  Time  and  Fate's  great  trial-day, 
Disclose  where,  for  our  troubled  breasts, 
The  chief  stone  of  the  corner  rests. 

O  Father,  be  each  helpful  word 
As  thine  own  inspiration  heard ! 
And  every  truth  sustaining  made, 
As  thine  own  witness  surely  laid ! 

Be  all  these  fair  material  things, 

And  all  that  Faith  must  reach  with  wings, 

And  all  the  past  and  all  to  come, 

One  heavenly  reign,  one  human  home. 


XENIA. 


X  E  N  I  A. 


WITH  A  MEERSCHAUM. 

One  sea  said  to  another : 
"  Let  us  contribute,  brother, 
And  make  a  '  porte-cigarre ' 
For  a  poet's  home  afar. 
I  will  supply  the  amber 
From  out  my  chymic  chamber ; 
Your  best '  sea-foam  '  prepare, 
And  that  shall  be  your  share ; 
Thus  I've  an  emblem  brought 
Of  his  clear  and  colored  thought, 


76 


XENIA. 


As  your  white  meerschaum  shall  be 

Of  his  stainless  probity. 

A  lion's  head  not  ill 

Will  show  his  strength  of  will." 

Now  though  you  may  refuse 

The  unwonted  tube  to  use, 

And  the  skill  wherewith  'tis  wrought 

Should  so  pass  clean  for  naught; 

Yet  take  it,  —  and  that  ends  it,  — 

For  the  sake  of  the  love  that  sends  it. 

Brussels,  August,  1860. 


WITH  A  HAIR  BRACELET. 

From  two  dear  heads  is  wrought  this  braid 

Around  your  wrist  to  set, 
As  if  a  trinket  would  be  made 

A  loving  amulet. 


MISCELLANEOUS. 


MISCELLANEOUS. 


IN  BEHALF  OF  "THE  HOME  FOR  DESTITUTE 
AND    INCURABLE  WOMEN." 

Incurable  !    Sweet  Nature's  healing  forces 
Struck  at  the  root,  and  wasted  at  the  spring; 

While  Art  and  Science,  with  their  grand  resources, 
No  means  can  study  out,  no  rescue  bring. 

Incurable !    The  fatal  word  is  spoken 

That  smites  the  faint  heart  with  its  flat  despair ; 
Yet  it  is  heard  with  spirit  not  all  broken, 

If  Gratitude  and  Faith  their  solace  bear. 


80      IN  BEHALF  OF  A  CHARITABLE  INSTITUTION. 


Waken  that  thankfulness  in  Misery's  daughters, 
Which,  more  than  expectation,  holds  us  up ; 

Direct  the  flow  of  ever-living  waters 
To  fill  the  hollow  of  their  earthen  cup. 

Nature  and  flesh,  in  sinking,  do  not  alter 

The  thoughts  that  rise  beyond  decay  and  pain ; 

And,  when  the  leech's  cunning  fingers  falter, 
Eternal  hands  the  inward  life  sustain. 

Sharp  the  distress,  as  desperate  the  condition, 
Of  those  who  here  lie  at  the  Beautiful  Gate, 

And  from  the  name  of  Him,  the  Great  Physician, 
With  patient  eyes  their  whole  deliverance  wait. 

That  name  is  Mercy.    Show  your  portion  of  it : 
Aid  your  poor  sisters  in  their  sorest  need ; 

And  so  join  with  Apostle  and  with  Prophet, 
Who  bore  its  message  and  fulfilled  its  deed. 


ODE. 


81 


Small  is  their  hope  but  in  the  upper  dwelling; 

Too  weak  to  labor,  and  too  lame  to  roam  : 
Let  not  the  record  that's  on  high  be  telling 

You  grudged  the  weary  feet  a  transient  "  Home." 


ODE. 

SUNG  IN  FANEUIL  HALL,  JULY  4,  1857. 

Tune,  —  "  Hail  Columbia." 

Hark!  the  Patriot  Fathers'  call 
Fills  and  stirs  the  echoing  hall. 

No  thin  or  ghost-like  voice  is  theirs, 
No  thin  or  ghost-like  voice  is  theirs. 
It  sounds  from  many  a  sacred  fane, 
Trenched  hill  and  tented  plain. 
It  sounds  in  words  of  cheer  and  strife, 
That  breathed  and  spread  a  nation's  life 
Farther  east  than  pilgrim  graves, 
West  to  the  Pacific's  waves. 
6 


ODE. 


CHORUS. 

One  and  all,  and  all  as  one, 
Clustered  States,  your  high  course  run ! 
Hold  your  safeguards  still  in  sight: 
Union,  Order,  God  and  Right. 

See !  the  Patriot  Fathers  rise  ; 
Mark  the  triumph  of  their  eyes 

At  all  the  rapid  wonders  wrought, 
At  all  the  rapid  wonders  wrought. 
For  broader,  brighter  than  their  dreams, 
Freedom's  banner  floats  and  beams. 
Forms  colossal,  they  expand, 
Like  our  empire's  lakes  and  land ; 

Their  high  looks  are  charge  and  prayers 
For  us,  their  sons,  and  more  than  heirs. 

CHORUS. 

One  and  all,  and  all  as  one,  &c. 


ODE. 


Lo,  we  catch  their  noble  strain ! 

Lo,  their  strong  shades  walk  again, 

As  their  proud  days  survey  our  own, 
As  their  proud  days  survey  our  own ! 

We  praise  their  far-eyed  wisdom's  thought, 

Speech  that  thundered,  hands  that  fought. 

Farmer,  trader,  artisan, 

French  and  Dutch  and  German  man, 
Sons  and  strangers,  join  to  say 
What  drum  and  cannon  speak  to-day : 

CHORUS. 

One  and  all,  and  all  as  one, 
Clustered  States,  your  high  course  run  ! 
Hold  your  safeguards  still  in  sight : 
Union,  Order,  God  and  Right. 


84 


TO   , 


TO   . 

Once  your  unconscious  baby  brow 
I  wet  with  Christ's  pure  sign  ; 

Your  graceful  art,  in  turn,  is  now 
Scanning  and  tracing  mine  ; 

And  ripening  beauty,  growing  powers, 

Paint  on  this  album's  page 
The  tracks  of  long  since  perished  hours, 

The  shrinking  lines  of  age. 

The  blessing  then  pronounced  and  sought, 

So  many  miles  away, 
I  bring  before  my  silent  thought, 

And  write  it  here  to-day. 

The  hand  which  guides  that  slender  quill 

Grasp  every  strong  defence ; 
Directed  by  a  duteous  will 

And  washed  in  innocence ! 


TO   . 


85 


The  eye  that  sees  so  quick  and  true 

Find  all  life's  colors  soft ; 
The  earth  spread  round  in  loveliest  hue, 

And  heaven  in  light  aloft! 

But  if  some  evil,  lurking  by, 

Should  make  those  fingers  weak  ; 

And  grief  or  pain  should  dim  the  eye, 
And  blanch  the  blooming  cheek  ; 

May  Patience  near  thee  take  her  seat, 

And  Hope  stand  looking  up, 
And  smiling  thoughts  pour  forth  their  sweet 

Into  that  solemn  cup. 

And  when  the  snows  of  years  shall  steal 

Upon  thy  vernal  prime, 
More  may  the  soul  its  pinions  feel, 

And  triumph  over  time. 
Florence,  Nov.  20,  1859. 


SAINT  CECILIA. 


SAINT  CECILIA. 

I  SAW  thee  in  Bologna's  halls, 
By  Raphael's  art  portrayed, 

Let  drop  the  charming  instruments 
Thy  skilful  hand  had  played, 

Listening  to  music  more  divine 
Than  man  had  ever  made. 

I  loved  that  lifted,  raptured  face, 
Loved  what  that  scene  expressed ; 

For  sure,  the  symphonies  of  heaven 
Must  ever  be  the  best, 

And  there  come  strains  from  upper  air 
To  every  hearkening  breast. 

But  there's  another  mystic  tale, 

Not  told  in  magic  paint ; 
It  rises  on  my  heart  in  tints 

Not  meaningless  nor  faint, 


SAINT  CECILIA. 


And  brings  me  closer  to  thy  side, 
Cecilia,  minstrel  saint! 

She  holds  a  bunch  of  flowers  aloft, 
Richer  than  earth's  can  be ; 

And  none  but  the  believing  eye 
Those  matchless  blooms  can  see ; 

She  turns  her  face  to  mine,  and  thus 
She  cheers  and  counsels  me  :  — 

The  world  is  full  of  fragrant  gifts 
Which  sensual  eyes  can  ne'er  discern  ; 
But  Faith  the  envious  veil  uplifts, 
And  man  his  truest  vision  then  may  learn : 
Faith  sees  the  flowers. 

The  air  is  full  of  odors  fine, 
Which  coarsest  senses  cannot  miss; 
And  yet  there  needs  a  touch  divine 
To  trace  their  source,  or  to  receive  their  bliss 
Faith  sees  the  flowers. 


88  SAINT  CECILIA. 

But  there  are  weeds  and  thorny  ground, 
And  vapors  foul  swoop  from  the  sky ; 
And  when  we  ask  where  Hope  is  found, 
Or  why  these  noisome,  sad  distempers  ?  —  why  ?  — 
Faith  yet  finds  flowers. 

When  grief  is  choking  at  the  throat, 
And  fear  is  knocking  at  the  heart, 
And  shattering  thoughts  the  brain  have  smote, 
And  loss,  disaster,  pain,  inflict  their  smart, — 
Faith  sees  the  flowers ; 

And  when  the  powers  and  senses  fail, 
The  end  of  earth  now  close  at  hand, 
The  flush  of  life  all  deathly  pale,  — 
Faith,  in  the  gardens  of  the  better  land, 
Shall  see  the  flowers. 

Naples,  Sunday,  Dec.  11,  1859. 


SAINT  CHRISTOPHER. 


89 


SAINT  CHRISTOPHER. 

Ah,  my  strong  saint,  who  would'st  not  deign  to 
serve 

Aught  but  the  strongest!  I  behold  thee  there, 
With  thy  broad  shoulders  and  thy  giant  form. 
Thou  hadst  no  wit  nor  knowledge ;  couldst  not 
learn 

What  the  priests  bade  thee,  —  couldst  not  bend 
thy  knee 

To  their  long  prayers  or  tedious  penances. 

Thou  gavest  what  thou  hadst,  thy  manly  strength, 

To  the  sweet  service  of  humanity. 

So  thou  didst  bear  the  Christ  upon  thy  back, 

And  minister  unto  the  Lord  of  glory. 

Cathedral  of  Cologne. 


90 


THE  "  JUVENIS  ADORANS." 


THE  "JUVENIS  ADORANS." 

This  antique  statue,  a  youth  praying,  dug  up  from  the  Tiber  in 
the  pontificate  of  Clement  XI.,  was  presented  by  that  Pope  to 
Prince  Eugene,  of  Savoy.  From  him  it  passed  into  the  possession 
of  Prince  Lichtenstein.  Frederic  II.,  of  Prussia,  bought  it  for  ten 
thousand  thalers,  and  placed  it  in  his  palace  at  Potsdam.  It  is  now 
one  of  the  finest  ornaments  of  the  sculpture  gallery  at  Berlin. 
The  subject  was  a  favorite  one  among  the  old  Greek  sculptors. 

Tiber's  yellow  flood 
Darkest  tales  can  tell, 
Where  the  mightiest  stood, 
How  the  haughtiest  fell. 

Tiber's  sedgy  banks 
Rustle  with  the  past. 
Ah,  that  Rome's  bright  ranks 
Should  fade  to  this  at  last! 


THE  "JUVENIS  ADORANS." 

Tiber's  muddy  bed ! 
Beneath  thy  burial  lid,  — 
If  true  what  men  have  said,  — 
Treasures  of  spoil  lie  hid. 

And  we  were  truly  told. 
From  those  foul  deeps  they  raise 
A  form  of  vigorous  mould ; 
And  behold  !  he  prays. 

Not  crouchingly  he  stands, 
Not  kneeling  as  in  dread, 
Not  clasped  his  eager  hands, 
Not  bowed  his  noble  head. 

His  gaze  is  on  the  sky, 

As  if  his  trust  were  there ; 

His  arms  stretched  wide  and  high, 

As  if  his  thanks  were  prayer. 


92 


THE  "JUVENIS  ADORANS." 


His  youth  breathes  strong  of  hope, 
And  life's  full,  generous  fires, 
As  towards  that  heavenly  cope 
He  worships  and  aspires. 

So  at  the  Easter-tide 
The  churches  rose  and  stood ;  * 
Throwing  all  stoop  aside, 
And  every  mournful  mood. 

O  genius  of  new  days ! 
Hail  from  thine  ancient  tomb  ; 
Now  let  thy  spirit's  blaze 
Chase  the  old  world  of  gloom. 


*  Standing  was  the  usual  posture  of  prayer  in  the  early  Chris- 
tian assemblies  on  the  Lord's  day  ;  because  that  day  was  a  holiday, 
the  Festival  of  the  Eesurrection.  But  from  Easter  to  Pentecost  it 
was  positively  forbidden  to  assume  any  other  attitude  in  the  public 
devotions. 


THE  CROSSED  SWORDS. 


93 


Bright  one !  thine  influence  pour 
On  man  so  prone  and  sad ; 
And  teach  him  how  to  adore, 
And  to  be  free  and  glad. 


THE  CROSSED  SWORDS. 


Read  at  a  meeting  of  the  Massachusetts  Historical  Society, 
April  28,  1859,  on  occasion  of  the  transfer  of  two  swords,  so  ar- 
ranged, from  the  library  of  William  H.  Prescott  to  that  of  the 
Society.  One  of  them  was  worn  by  Colonel  William  Prescott  at 
the  battle  of  Bunker  Hill ;  the  other,  by  Captain  Linzee,  who  com- 
manded the  British  sloop-of-war  "  Falcon,"  which  cannonaded  the 
American  troops  during  that  action.  The  two  families  were  after- 
wards allied  by  intermarriage. 

Swords  crossed,  but  not  in  strife ! 
The  chiefs  who  drew  them,  parted  by  the  space 
Of  two  proud  countries'  quarrel,  face  to  face 

Ne'er  stood,  for  death  or  life. 


94 


THE  CROSSED  SWORDS. 


Swords  crossed,  that  never  met 
While  nerve  was  in  the  hands  that  wielded  them ; 
Hands  better  destined  a  fair  family  stem 

On  these  free  shores  to  set. 

Kept  crossed  by  gentlest  bands ! 
Emblems  no  more  of  battle,  but  of  peace ; 
And  proofs  how  loves  can  grow  and  wars  can  cease, 

Their  once  stern  symbol  stands. 

It  smiled  first  on  the  array 
Of  marshalled  books  and  friendliest  companies; 
And  here,  a  history  among  histories, 

It  still  shall  smile  alway. 

See  that  thou  memory  keep 
Of  him  the  firm  commander,  and  that  other 
The  stainless  Judge,*  and  him  our  peerless  broth- 
er,— 

All  fallen  now  asleep. 


*  Judge  William  Prescott,  father  of  the  historian. 


THE  CROSSED  SWORDS. 


95 


Yet  more  :  a  lesson  teach, 
To  cheer  the  patriot  soldier  in  his  course, 
That  Right  shall  triumph  still  o'er  insolent  Force : 

That  be  your  silent  speech. 

Oh,  be  prophetic,  too ! 
And  may  those  nations  twain,  as  sign  and  seal 
Of  endless  amity,  hang  up  their  steel, 

As  we  these  weapons  do. 

The  archives  of  the  past, 
So  smeared  with  blots  of  hate  and  bloody  wrong, 
Pining  for  peace,  and  sick  to  wait  so  long, 

Hail  this  meek  cross  at  last. 


96 


A  SONNET. 


A  SONNET. 


How  blest  this  peaceful  hour  and  tranquil  soul ! 
Why  are  we  so  disquieted  in  vain  ? 
Feeble  affronts  will  break  the  temper's  rein, 
And  little  crosses  master  self-control. 
A  vanishing  spark  we  turn  to  burning  coal, 
And  insect  buzzings  overthrow  the  brain. 
We  fret  at  Time  and  Nature ;  and  complain 
That  fates  are  fixtures,  and  that  fortunes  roll. 
We  sigh  along  the  past,  that  now  is  not ; 
And  tremble  at  the  future,  that  as  yet 
Is  nothing  but  what  fancy's  fears  beget, 
And  draws  no  blade  across  a  single  spot. 
Take  lesson  from  these  moments,  O  fond  heart! 
•  When  no  griefs  press  thee,  and  no  terrors  start. 

Autumnal  Equinox,  1862. 


LYING  DEAD  AT  FOURSCORE. 


97 


LYING  DEAD  AT  FOURSCORE. 

Death  wipes  all  wrinkles  from  the  skin. 

The  aged  face  was  smooth, 
And  mouth  as  calm,  as  they  had  been 

In  the  clear  days  of  youth. 

Time  ploughs  its  furrows  on  the  brow, 

Its  furrows  on  the  cheek ; 
And,  of  our  fewscore  years,  the  Now 

Thus  silently  will  speak. 

The  hosts  of  many  an  anxious  toil 

Their  trenches  will  advance ; 
And  all  the  thoughts  that  mope  and  moil 

Will  seam  the  countenance. 

7 


98 


LYING  DEAD  AT  FOURSCORE. 


The  fevers  of  the  mind  will  wear 

Such  tracks  into  the  clay, 
As  will  not,  while  the  life  is  there, 

Consent  to  pass  away. 

But  Death  has  power  where  Life  had  none  : 

It  can  those  scars  erase, 
And  render  back,  when  all  is  done, 

The  quiet  of  the  face. 

Oh,  may  it  so,  when  Time  is  o'er, 

And  sealed  its  earthly  scroll, 
Looks  of  immortal  freshness  pour 

On  the  transfigured  soul ! 

No  wrinkle  of  a  peevish  mind, 

Or  of  a  sharp  distress ; 
No  fires  that  scorch,  no  cares  that  grind, 

Nor  any  wretchedness. 


AT  A  GRAVE. 


The  joy  begin,  that  shall  not  fear 

A  day  when  it  must  cease ; 
And  every  channel  for  a  tear 
Be  smoothed  to  perfect  peace. 
Rome,  Sunday,  Feb.  5,  1860. 


AT  A  GRAVE. 

"  Why  seek  ye  the  living  among  the  dead  ?  " 

Luke  xxiv. 

Heed  well  what  the  angel 

To  mourners  said ; 
And  write  that  evangel 

Above  the  dead. 

Why  come  with  your  grieving 

To  this  low  bed  ? 
u  Why  seek  ye  the  living 

Among  the  dead?  " 


100 


AT  A  GRAVE. 


To  Memory's  high  places 
My  heart  is  led ; 

Beyond  earthy  spaces, 
There  walk  my  dead. 

Deep,  deep  in  affection 

Unlimited, 
Still,  still  in  connection, 

Repose  my  dead. 

The  ground  is  no  holder 
Of  one  dear  head: 

They  never  can  moulder : 
Why  call  them  dead  ? 

The  souls  of  God's  giving 
To  God  have  fled  : 

«  Why  seek  ye  the  living 
Among  the  dead?" 
Burlington,  Aug.  24,  1862. 


A  LAMENT. 


101 


A  LAMENT 

FOR  REV.  WILLIAM  PARSONS  LUNT,  D.D., 

"Who  died  at  Akabah,  the  ancient  Ezion-Geber,  on  the  Red  Sea, 
March  20,  1857,  on  his  way  to  the  Holy  Land. 

A  wail  from  beyond  the  desert ! 
A  wail  from  across  the  sea ! 

The  home  he  left, 

Bereft,  bereft 
For  evermore  must  be. 

As  spread  the  heavy  tidings, 
How  many  a  heart  grows  sore, 

That  the  eloquent  grace 

Of  that  pensive  face 
And  that  mellow  voice  is  o'er! 


102 


A  LAMENT. 


Alas  for  thee,  O  our  brother ! 

And  for  this  we  sorrow  most, 
That  a  spirit  so  fair 
Must  be  breathed  out  there, 

On  that  stern  Arabian  coast ;  — 

That  a  life  so  all  unforeign, — 
To  faith  and  his  country  bound, — 

Turned  dying  eyes 

Upon  Asian  skies, 
And  dropped  on  Moslem  ground. 

Away  for  the  Holy  City 
With  pilgrim  soul  he  trod ; 

But  nearer  at  hand 

Must  the  pearl  gates  expand 
Of  the  city  new  of  God. 

The  judgment-peak  of  Sinai 
Rose  now  in  the  homeward  West  ; 


BURIAL  OF  JOHN  ELIOT  THAYER. 


103 


Its  shadows  grim 
Had  no  terror  for  him 
As  he  sank  to  his  Christian  rest. 

But,  oh,  that  the  thoughtful  scholar, — 
His  mind  at  its  fullest  noon, — 

That  the  Preacher's  tongue 

And  the  Poet's  song 
Should  pass  away  so  soon ! 


BURIAL  OF  JOHN  ELIOT  THAYER. 

Thy  stately  dwellings  mourn  for  thee 

From  all  their  golden  walls ; 
The  busy  street  cries,  "  Where  is  he  ?  " 

And  saddens  as  it  calls. 

Beneath  these  princely  shades  is  met 

A  more  than  princely  crowd, 
Saluting  with  its  warm  regret 

A  body  and  a  shroud ; 


BURIAL  OF  JOHN  ELIOT  THAYER. 


And  memories  of  that  noble  past, — 
More  rich  than  house  or  land,  — 

A  stainless  life,  a  friendly  heart, 
Quick  head  and  generous  hand ; 

And  soul,  that  from  a  brimming  cup 

Drank  never  greed  or  pride, 
But  looked  with  meekest  reverence  up, 

And  spread  its  bounties  wide. 

He  was  not  trained  where  scholars  teach 

He  filled  no  public  sphere ; 
Yet  all  that  best  belongs  to  each 

To  honor  him  is  here. 

Not  vulgar  wealth,  with  amplest  show, 
Such  funeral  wreaths  could  twine ; 

It  was  not  that  he  made  it  grow, 
But  that  he  bade  it  shine,  — 


BURIAL  OF  JOHN  ELIOT  THAYER. 


105 


Shine  with  such  uses,  as  have  made 

A  glory  where  we  live,  — 
Shine  with  such  charities  as  aid 

Those  who  receive  and  give. 

His  counsel  keen  and  active  will 
Grew  strong  from  hour  to  hour, 

His  plans  of  various  service  still 
Expanding  with  his  power. 

Yet  no  reluctance  to  lie  there 
His  dying  thoughts  distressed : 

With  loving  message,  tranquil  prayer, 
He  sank  through  pain  to  rest. 

Farewell,  who  always  wishedst  well, — 

Thy  judgments  ever  kind ! 
How  many  sorrowing  memories  tell 

Thy  gentle,  constant  mind  ! 


DREAMS. 


Thy  desolate  dwellings  mourn  for  thee 
From  all  their  golden  walls ; 

The  busy  street  cries,  "  Where  is  he  ?  " 
And  saddens  as  it  calls. 


DREAMS. 

In  boyhood's  shy,  romantic  days, 
I  lived  on  hope  and  toiled  for  praise 
A  world  ideal  caught  my  eyes, 
That  turned  all  present  joys  to  sighs 
It  was  a  dream. 

I  took  my  place  in  crowds  of  men, 
With  anxious  voice  and  restless  pen 
With  eager  will  and  scanty  power 
To  fill  my  sphere  and  rule  my  hour : 
It  was  a  dream. 


DREAMS. 


107 


Ambition  claimed  the  lead  to  take, 
And  Love  wove  in  its  softer  sake, 
And  Heart  and  Senses  flamed  at  "  Come, 
Find  all  in  our  Elysium  : " 
It  was  a  dream. 

What  I  could  win,  you  say,  is  won ; 
What  I  could  do,  you  say,  is  done; 
And  feebler  pulse  and  nerves  remind 
Of  raptures  fading  far  behind : 
Nay,  let  me  dream. 

Not  of  the  scenes  that  could  not  last, 
Nor  loss  nor  transport  of  the  Past ; 
But  of  some  good  not  yet  possessed, 
In  duteous  work  and  loving  rest, 
Let  me  dream  —  dream. 


108  FOREVERMORE  AND  NEVERMORE. 


FOREVER, MORE  AND  NEVERMORE. 

Ever,  Forever,  and  Forevermore ! 
O  words  too  big  for  mortals !    Give  them  o'er, 
Save  when  they  point  to  some  immortal  hope 
Matching  our  mystic  nature's  boundless  scope ; 
Or  dwell  abstract,  impassively  sublime, 
Untouched  by  Feeling,  as  unreached  by  Time. 

"  Forever,  evermore !  "  the  Lover  cries, 

As  in  his  loved  one's  arms  entranced  he  lies. 

Incredulous  I  listen  ;  yet  admire 

The  soul  that  breathes  that  pledge  of  faith  and  fire. 

Incredulous,  —  not  that  a  fraud  I  fear, 

For  passions  cannot  choose  but  be  sincere;  — 

But  oh,  stern  doom  of  years !  blind  thoughts  of  men  ! 

How  small,  beyond  the  day,  our  power  or  ken ! 


FOREYERMORE  AND  NEVERMORE. 


109 


Here,  hasty  heats  divide  what  seemed  one  heart, 

And  there,  the  chilled  hands  slowly  drop  apart ; 

Caprice  and  Temper  ply  their  losing  trade, 

And  creeping  Eld  or  rapid  Fates  invade, 

And  turn  —  though  hard  it  sounds  to  say  it  now  — 

To  meanest  measures  that  eternal  vow. 

P  Forever  and  forevermore !  "  exclaims 

The  creed  of  Calvin  o'er  its  gulf  of  flames. 

Its  terrible  fervors  could  not  skill  to  tell 

The  Saviour's  grace,  but  from  an  endless  hell. 

The  fiery  sea  of  torment  feebly  rolls 

The  fury  of  a  God  on  human  souls, 

If  "  Everlasting"  be  not  thundered  there, 

To  crown  the  curse  of  anguish  and  despair. 

Incredulous  I  hear.    The  Scripture  Word 

To  that  fierce  horror  grants  no  true  accord. 

The  preacher  all  in  vain  counts  out  for  me 

His  arithmetical  eternity ; 

And  all  this  "  Ever  and  forevermore  " 

Rings  yet  more  hollow  than  it  rang  before. 


110 


FOREVERMORE  AND  NEVERMORE. 


But  lo !  another  strain  falls  on  my  ear, 

Unlike  that  vague  and  far  one,  plain  and  near ,  — 

Its  very  opposite.    That  ran  on  and  on, 

While  this  can  only  falter,  "  Gone,  all  gone!" 

Its  solemn  cadence  is,  "  No,  nevermore." 

My  feet  I  feel  now  on  the  narrow  floor 

Of  too  well-known  experience.    Round  me  rise 

Wailing  regrets  and  stifled  breath  of  sighs. 

Now  am  I  touched  ; —  here  is  the  realm  I  know  ;  — 

Thus  bounded  all  my  joys  we  taste  below. 

What  shades  of  sadness  gather  and  remain 

About  that  phrase,  "  Never  to  come  again  " ! 

Never,  no,  nevermore  the  golden  ray 

That  poured  such  magic  o'er  a  younger  day. 

No,  never  more  those  dear  ones  by  our  side, 

Who  took  the  world's  half  with  them  when  they  died. 

Ah,  worse !  if  lost  and  gone  that  peace  of  mind, 

Dark  memories  tell  we  nevermore  can  find : 

A  something  wretched  done,  —  no  matter  what, — 

That  never  can  be  undone  —  or  forgot. 


FOREVERMORE  AND  NEVERMORE.  Ill 


"  It  is  the  last  time  :  never,  nevermore." 
That  mournful  dirge  as  on  a  desolate  shore, 
Is  it  all  mournful  ?    No  :  that  murmur  cease  : 
Full  oft  it  breathes  of  requiem  and  of  peace. 
For  the  last  time  that  hard  task  has  been  wrought ; 
For  the  last  time  that  hard  fight  has  been  fought. 
No,  nevermore  that  weary  load  shall  press ; 
And  nevermore  shall  cut  that  sharp  distress. 
'Tis  the  last  pang,  to  ease  distempered  hearts, 
When  the  grim  spirit  tears  them  and  departs. 

O  Lord  Omnipotent!  O  Grace  Supreme! 
Bless  to  our  use  Reality  and  Dream ; 
Teach  us  how  different  uses  melt  to  one, 
That  we  may  praise  the  Shadow  and  the  Sun. 
For  all  that  bends  to  Time  and  Fate's  control, 
And  for  the  Everlasting  in  the  soul, 
For  Reason's  handlings,  Faith's  supernal  eye, 
For  all  that  cannot  last,  or  cannot  die, 


112 


ON  A  MINIATURE. 


We  thank  Thee,  Father !    O  Eternal !  send 

That  Power  which  makes  all  other  powers  befriend, 

And  in  one  fold  of  love  Ever  and  Never  blend ! 


ON  A  MINIATURE. 

1826-1864. 

"  Omnia  fert  setas,  animum  quoque  :  saspe  ego  longos 
Cantando  puerum  meraini  me  condere  soles." 

Virgil,  Bucol.  ix.  50,  51. 

"  Yes,  it  was  like,"  —  so  says  my  own 
Liege  one,  who  surely  knows  the  best. 

The  picture  that  was  earliest  known 
She  chooses  still  of  all  the  rest. 

Our  friends  scarce  credit  what  they're  told ; 

And  I  myself  with  pains  can  trace 
A  line  of  what  they  now  behold, 

In  those  broad  eyes,  that  fair,  smooth  face. 


ON  A  MINIATURE.  113 

The  eyes  so  open  should  have  sought 

To  fix  on  Truth  a  deeper  gaze ; 
And  those  soft  traits  of  studious  thought 

Meant  more  for  duty  and  for  praise. 

'Tis  long  since  then  :  'tis  past  for  that ; 

The  darkening  sight  more  dim  must  be ; 
The  full-orbed  strengths  grow  thin  and  flat ; 

And  hopes  more  scant,  and  acts  less  free. 

Let  pass.    To  learn  be  harder  now ; 

And  ah,  how  easier  to  forget! 
Ye  world-trusts,  pass  with  boding  brow ! 

Ye  world-joys,  with  your  eyelids  wet! 

As  vain  to  mourn  this  waning  power 

As  to  regret  that  faded  bloom : 
I  hoped  and  wished  this  might-be  hour, 

And  will  not  dread  a  may-be  gloom. 

8 


114 


PRAYER  AND  THE  DEAD. 


With  features  changed,  with  heart  all  one, 
I  glance  behind  and  face  before. 

A  track  not  measured  by  the  sun 
The  heart  may  keep  for  evermore. 

Aye,  just  the  same.    All  things  beside 
Like  tints  grow  pale,  like  forms  remove ; 

But  still  within  the  soul  abide 

The  props  of  Trust,  the  hues  of  Love. 

Times,  fortunes,  judgments,  steal  away  : 
We  much  must  err,  and  little  know ; 

But  Trust  sets  up  its  pillared  stay : 

There  burns  till  death  Love's  patient  glow. 


PRAYER  AND  THE  DEAD. 

They  passed  away  from  sight  and  hand, 

A  slow  successive  train : 
To  memory's  heart,  a  gathered  band, 

Our  lost  ones  come  again. 


PRAYER  AND  THE  DEAD. 


115 


Not  back  to  earth,  a  second  time 

The  mortal  path  to  tread : 
They  walk  in  their  appointed  clime, 

The  dead,  but  not  the  dead. 

Their  spirits  up  to  God  we  gave, 

With  eyes  as  wet  as  dim  ; 
Confiding  in  his  care  to  save, 

For  all  do  live  to  Him. 

Beyond  all  we  can  know  or  think, 

Beyond  the  earth  and  sky, 
Beyond  Time's  lone  and  dreaded  brink, 

Their  deathless  dwellings  lie. 

Dear  thoughts  that  once  our  union  made, 

Death  does  not  disallow : 
We  prayed  for  them  while  here  they  staid, 

And  what  shall  hinder  now  ? 


116 


PRAYER  AND  THE  DEAD. 


Our  Father !  give  them  perfect  day, 
And  portions  with  the  blest ; 

Oh,  pity  if  they  went  astray, 
And  pardon  for  the  best ! 

As  they  may  need,  still  deign  to  bring 

The  helping  of  thy  grace ; 
The  shadow  of  thy  guardian  wing 

Or  shining  of  thy  face. 

For  all  their  sorrows  here  below, 
Be  boundless  joy  and  peace ; 

For  all  their  love,  a  heavenly  glow 
That  nevermore  shall  cease. 

O  Lord  of  Souls !  when  ours  shall  part, 

To  try  the  farther  birth, 
Let  Faith  go  journeying  with  the  heart 

To  those  we  loved  on  earth. 

May  27,  1865. 


BARTIM^US. 


117 


BARTIjVLEUS. 

"  What  wouldst  thou  I  should  do  for  thee  ?  " 
Said  he  who  held  the  wonder-key 
Of  Nature's  secret  virtues ;  who 
The  utmost  that  he  said  could  do ; 
For,  not  like  these  poor  breaths  of  ours, 
His  words  were  gifts  and  acts  and  powers. 

The  questioned  man  had  ears  to  hear, 
And  Touch  was  true  in  its  small  sphere ; 
His  tongue  was  quick ;  he  rose  to  meet 
The  Grace  that  called  him  to  his  feet. 
But  hidden  were  Christ's  form  and  face, 
The  moving  crowd,  the  unmoving  place ; 
The  kingly  sense  that  lights  the  mind 
Was  gone  :  Timaeus'  son  was  blind. 
He  answered,  —  did  he  answer  right  ?  — 
"  Lord,  that  I  might  receive  my  sight." 


BARTIMiEUS. 


Oh,  chide  not  that  he  could  not  lift 
His  heart  to  any  higher  gift ; 
And  when  a  heavenly  offerer  came, 
No  heavenly  gift  could  think  or  name. 
"  Receive  thy  sight,"  the  Christ  replied ; 
And  the  glad  wretch  walked  justified. 

Sat  there  that  day  a  king  at  hand, 
With  sceptre  over  sea  and  land, 
And  wealth  and  splendor  round  his  throne, 
Free  to  all  eyes,  —  denied  his  own,  — 
On  his  crowned  brow  were  blot  like  that, 
"Would  he  not  cast  to  mole  and  bat 
His  royalty,  for  leave  to  share 
A  portion  with  that  beggar  there  ; 
And  rags  to  jewelled  robes  prefer, 
With  power  to  see  that  rags  they  were  ? 

The  blind  are  happy,  it  is  said. 
Not  so  this  scripture  tale  has  read. 


BARTIMiEUS. 


119 


The  sharp  cry  could  not  silenced  be, 

"  Have  mercy,  mercy,  upon  me, 

Thou  son  of  David."    What  he  craved 

Was  met  with  this,  "  Thy  faith  hath  saved." 

Yet  list  we  to  that  plaintive  cheer ; 

>Tis  wisely  spoke  and  sweet  to  hear; 

And  many  witnesses  renew 

The  faith  that  it  is  strangely  true : 

Yes,  happy , —  cleave  we  to  the  hope,  — 

Though  feet  must  swerve  and  hands  must  grope  ; 

All  action  played  behind  a  screen, 

The  world  no  space  and  life  no  scene ; 

Though  nature,  art,  streets,  fields,  and  books, 

And  better,  best,  all  friendly  looks, 

Have  faded  into  nought ;  the  gaze 

That  spans  a  world  and  threads  a  maze, 

And,  when  the  round  of  day  is  done 

Outshoots  the  arrows  of  the  sun, 

Changed  for  the  thin  short  line  that  slips 

Beneath  the  moving  finger-tips. 


120 


BARTIM^US. 


'Who  that  hath  watched  the  smiles,  that  chase 
Each  other  o'er  the  tranquil  face 
Thus  mutilate,  does  not  decree 
A  place  for  them  in  memory  ? 
The  human  soul  a  debtor  lies 
To  him  who  sang  of  Paradise ; 
Who  tells  us  that  a  single  jot 
Of  heart  or  hope  he  bated  not. 
Nay,  there  are  they  whose  playful  strain 
Has  argued  that  this  want  was  gain. 
Still  Memory's  rigid  canvas  glows, 
And  Fancy's  free  conception  flows, 
And  Reason  tells  her  problems  o'er, 
And  gleaning  Thoughts  find  field  and  store. 

What,  then  ?  Did  our  poor  Israelite 

Prize  at  too  much  the  wealth  of  sight  ? 

And  is  its  loss  a  lighter  woe 

Than  men  have  thought  ?  Oh  no  !  oh  no ! 

This  new  Beatitude  will  prove 

The  wonder  of  the  Father-love, 


BARTIMiEUS. 


That  bids  such  compensation  wait 

On  a  calamity  so  great, 

Because  so  great.    Oh !  bless  the  care 

That  stoops  to  such  a  deep  despair. 

The  blind  are  happy  ?  Only  such 

As  make  the  world's  small  remnant  much, 

And  call  an  inward  state  to  atone 

For  what  makes  this  without  so  lone. 

Nor  all  concealed  from  human  thought 
How  this  celestial  work  is  wrought ; 
They  who  see  not  have  eyes  that  lend 
Their  aid  to  guide  and  to  defend ; 
Aye,  numberless.    They  sit  immured 
In  kindly  offices ;  secured 
By  their  strong  helplessness.    Who  stem 
The  boldest  crowds,  make  way  for  them. 
Mark  on  the  pavement  how  the  click 
Of  their  half-seeing,  slender  stick, 
Is  potent  as  a  Sultan's  word 
Or  marshal's  staff  or  conqueror's  sword. 


BARTIMiEUS. 

Close  tended  by  the  good  and  kind, 
They  form  the  temper  that  they  find. 
Does  not  that  disposition  bless, 
And  good-will  grow  to  happiness  ? 
"With  narrowing  range  of  earth's  ado, 
The  field  of  strife  is  narrowed  too  : 
The  tents  are  struck,  the  flags  are  furled, 
That  make  a  camp  of  half  the  world  : 
As  feuds  and  provocations  close, 
The  unchallenged  spirit  tastes  repose. 

The  Son  of  Man,  in  passing  by, 
Heeded  his  suppliant's  frantic  cry, 
Opened  his  eyes  to  drink  the  day, 
And  showed  his  following  steps  the  way 
He  passes  by  no  more.    A  sphere 
Immortal  holds  him.    But  e'en  here, 
And  now,  and  evermore,  he  stands, 
And  lifts  his  voice  and  lays  his  hands. 
Courage  and  cure !    But  not  as  when 
He  moved  among  those  Hebrew  men. 


BARTTMiEUS. 


No  miracle  or  transient  sign 

Attests  the  word  or  act  divine. 

The  painted  earth  and  painted  sky, 

And  looks  of  dear  humanity, 

He  brings  not  back ;  but  shows  in  light 

What  needs  no  orb  of  sensuous  sight. 

Ideal  growths  flush  into  bloom 

And  dove-like  sits  that  raven  gloom. 

O  Son  of  David !  many  sit 
In  that  deep  valley.    Speak  to  it! 
Set  Duty's  plain  and  Faith's  high  hill 
Before  them  ;  and  within  them  still 
Let  Mind  pursue  its  even  trains, 
Affection  chant  its  sweet  refrains, 
And  Truth  draw  clear  its  landscape  lines, 
Clear  as  where  Nature  buds  and  shines. 
From  that  bright  realm  reflect  a  ray, 
Where  tears  and  films  are  wiped  away. 
Let  patience  hold  and  love  increase ; 
And  fold  them  in  thy  peace,  thy  peace. 


HYMN  FOR  THE  BLIND. 


HYMN  FOR  THE  BLIND. 

O  God!  to  thine  all-seeing  ken 

The  night  and  day  are  one : 
The  blackness  of  earth's  deepest  den, 

And  flaming  of  the  sun. 

Both  lend  to  eyes  of  mortal  race 
Their  sweet  and  mingled  aid ; 

And  blest  in  its  alternate  place 
The  shining  and  the  shade. 

For  us,  a  cloud  is  on  the  sight, 

And  Nature's  face  is  hid ; 
Alike  untouched  by  figured  light 

The  eyeball  and  the  lid. 

So  it  hath  pleased  thee,  God  !    Be  each 

Sore  plaint  and  passion  still ; 
And  holy  thoughts  kneel  down,  and  teach 

Submission  to  that  will. 


THE  BLIND  ASLEEP. 


125 


From  all  our  diminutions,  Lord, 
Let  trust  and  love  increase ; 

And  all  our  hindrances  reward 
With  patience  and  with  peace. 

Oh,  clear  the  mind !  Be  more  and  more 

The  invisible  revealed ; 
And  spirits  brighten  at  the  door, 

When  all  without  is  sealed  ! 
June  3,  1865. 


THE  BLIND  ASLEEP. 

"  I  always  see  in  dreams,"  she  said, 
"  Nor  then  believe  that  I  am  blind." 
That  simple  thought  a  shadowy  pleasure  shed 
Within  my  mind. 

In  a  like  doom,  the  nights  afford 
A  like  display  of  mercy  done. 
How  oft  I've  dreamed  of  sight  as  full  restored ! 
Not  once  as  gone. 


126 


THE  BLIND  ASLEEP. 


Restored  as  with  a  flash  !    I  gaze 
On  open  books  with  letters  plain ; 
And  scenes  and  faces  of  the  dearer  days 
Are  bright  again. 

O  sleep !  in  pity  thou  art  made 
A  double  boon  to  such  as  we ; 
Beneath  closed  lids  and  folds  of  deepest  shade 
We  think  we  see. 

O  Providence !  when  all  is  dark 
Around  our  steps  and  o'er  thy  will, 
The  mercy-seat  that  hides  the  covenant-ark 
Has  angels  still. 

Thou  who  art  light !  illume  the  page 
Within  ;  renew  these  respites  sweet, 
And  show  beyond  the  films  and  wear  of  age 
Both  walk  and  seat. 
December  19,  1865. 


A  MONODY. 


127 


A  MONODY. 

She's  left  behind.    Oh,  dearest  one, 

Close  at  my  side  through  life's  long  day  ! 

Oh,  firm  and  clear  adjustment,  gone 
For  ever  from  my  darkening  way ! 

She's  left  behind.    No  power  can  send 

Her  missing  foot  again  to  bring ; 
Nor  I  one  step  can  backward  bend, 

And  say,  "  I've  sought  thee,  sorrowing." 

Behind ;  with  old  ambition's  aims 

And  young  delights  all  golden-haired, 

And  blessings  now  but  shades  and  names 
That  would  have  life  had  thine  been  spared. 

No,  no,  my  heart !  thy  thought  has  erred, 

Of  courage  and  of  faith  bereft. 
Stamp  on  its  folds  the  truer  word, 

"  She's  gone  before."    We,  we  are  left. 


128 


MADONNA. 


We  follow  soon ;  are  following  now ; 

For  onward  is  the  challenge  still. 
With  God,  each  When  and  Where  and  How  ; 

Not  earthly  fate,  but  heavenly  will. 

She's  gone  before ;  where  pain  is  past, 
Nor  danger  threats,  nor  grief  corrodes ; 

And  joy  is  full,  and  treasures  last 
In  those  immortal  "  many  "  abodes. 

Meet  me  again  with  that  calm  face, 

Needing  no  change  for  its  new  home, 
When,  weary  of  this  leaguered  place, 
Where  thou  art  safe,  I  hope  to  come. 
April  15,  1865. 


MADONNA. 

The  centre  of  my  life,  one  summer  mom, 
Melted  from  earth  into  the  brightening  sky ; 
From  that  time  forth  its  visible  round  was  shorn, 


MADONNA. 


129 


Narrowing  and  fading  on  the  wasting  eye, 
As  if  no  outward  scene  would  care  to  stay- 
After  that  inmost  presence  passed  away. 

Oh,  daunt  me  not,  ye  shadows,  as  ye  fall 
Thicker  each  day  upon  my  sight  and  brain, 
At  thoughts  of  blank  dependence  and  the  pall 
Of  utter  night,  and  craze  that's  more  than  pain ! 
Hide  the  last  ray  that  guides  my  footsteps'  course, 
But  spare  the  wandering  thoughts  their  steadying 
force. 

The  fatal  loss  went  first.    O  shade  of  her 

Who  shone  upon  my  life,  its  love  and  saint, 

Grow  not  thou  dark  to  me !    Still  minister 

To  my  lone  spirit,  burdened  down  and  faint. 

Veiled  now  her  very  image ;  but  the  heart 

Still  looks  and  yearns  and  moans,  and  will  not  part. 


9 


130 


AT  THE  AGE  OF  SEVENTY-THREE. 


AT  THE  AGE  OF  SEVENTY-THREE. 

Three  years  beyond  the  term 
Which  holy  writ  allots  to  human  days ! 
To  this  late  fruitage  from  that  early  germ 

I  count  my  calls  to  praise. 

Not  swiftly  flew  ye  by, 
As  our  regretful  fancy  makes  it  seem ; 
Nor  look  your  forms  to  my  reverted  eye 

Like  visions  and  a  dream. 

For  striving  thought  and  care 
Have  marked  their  station-points  at  each  remove ; 
And  I  have  raised,  not  upon  clouds  and  air, 

My  monuments  of  love. 

With  gradual  step  ye  went, 
As  mercy  multiplied  the  wayside  stones ; 
And  all  unchanged  your  shapes  ye  still  present, 

O  dear  and  sainted  ones! 


AT  THE  AGE  OF  SEVENTY-THREE. 


131 


On,  Time,  with  patient  flow 
Through  deepening,  darkening  vales,  but  now  not 
far ; 

The  images  of  my  immortals  show, 
And  bring  me  where  they  are. 


TRANSLATIONS. 


TRANSLATIONS. 


FROM  THE  GERMAN  OF  HEINTtlCH  HEDsE. 

L 

That  is  a  white  sea-mew, 
Which  hovering  I  espy- 
Just  over  the  blackening  billows : 
The  moon  stands  aloft  in  the  sky. 

The  shark  and  the  ray  snap  up, 
As  they  glance  for  an  instant  by ; 
She  rises  —  she  stoops — the  sea-mew: 
The  moon  stands  aloft  in  the  sky. 

O  darling,  wandering  soul, 
How  sorrowful  dost  thou  fly ! 
Too  near  thee  the  tumbling  water : 
The  moon  stands  aloft  in  the  sky. 


136 


FROM  HEINRICH  HEINE. 


II. 

Tell  me  who  first  did  the  clock  invent, 

To  show  how  minutes  and  hours  are  spent. 

That  was  some  solemn  and  freezing  wight. 

He  sat  and  droned  in  the  winter  night, 

And  counted  the  scampers  of  mice  in  the  wall, 

Or  the  measured  grind  of  the  wood-worm's  awl. 

Tell  me  who  first  invented  the  kiss : 
A  mouth  all  glowing  and  joyous  was  his. 
He  kissed,  and  thought  of  nothing  but  play, 
As  it  chanced  in  the  beautiful  month  of  May : 
Bright  flowers  o'er  all  the  landscape  sprang, 
The  sun  laughed  out,  and  the  thrushes  sang. 


THE  OAKS. 


137 


THE  OAKS. 

FROM  THE  GERMAN  OF  THEODOR  KORNER. 

Evening  falls,  and  mute  are  the  Day's  voices, 

Ruddy  the  ray  of  the  sun's  parting  sheen ; 

And  I  am  sitting  here  beneath  your  branches, 

And  my  heart  beats  within,  so  full  and  keen. 

Of  ancient  times  true,  ancient  testifiers, 

You  still  are  grandly  dressed  with  life's  fresh  green  ; 

And  mighty  images  of  former  story 

Are  yet  preserved  under  your  spreading  glory. 

Much  that  was  noble  Time  has  worn  to  ruin : 
Much  that  was  fair  is  with  the  early  dead. 
Through  the  rich  garlands  of  your  leaves  they 
glimmer 

Their  last  leave-taking  in  the  Evening  Red. 


188 


THE  OAKS. 


Still  undisturbed  at  all  that  Fate  is  dark  with, 
In  vain  has  Time  threatened  your  lofty  head ; 
And  there  sounds,  from  out  the  branches  sighing, 
"  All  that's  great  must  in  the  dust  be  lying." 

And  you  have  stood !    Under  all  fickle  changes 
You  leaf  out  free  and  strong,  with  hero-mind. 
Sure  not  a  pilgrim  will  be  wandering  by  you, 
And  not  have  in  your  generous  shade  reclined : 
And  in  your  leaves  autumnal,  when  they're  drop- 
ping 

Though  dead,  you  will  a  precious  blessing  find ; 

For  your  mouldering  children  will  engender 

New  substance  for  your  next  year's  vernal  splendor. 

Lovely  image  of  old  German  Honor, 
Looking  for  better  days  yet,  yet  to  start, 
Where,  in  brave  and  joyful  Death-devotion, 
Burghers  build  their  States  with  freest  heart. 


MURAL  INSCRIPTION. 


139 


Ah,  what  helps  it  thus  the  smart  to  awaken? 
Yet  every  object  but  renews  the  smart. 
German  Folk !    Thou,  all  the  rest  outvying ! 
Thy  oaks  are  standing  up,  thou  on  the  ground  art 

tying- 
Leghorn,  December,  1859. 


INSCRIPTION 


ON  A  HOUSE  NEAR  THE  "CHARTREUSE,"  LAKE 
OF  THUN. 

Much  rain  and  short  sunshine 
Give  slender  crops  and  sourish  wine ; 
But  hadst  thou  power  o'er  sun  and  rain, 
Without  God's  blessing  small  the  gain. 


140 


THE  SHIP  "JAMESTOWN." 


THE  SHIP  "JAMESTOWN." 

A  SONNET. 

FROM  THE  GERMAN  OF  DR.  FRANCIS  LIEBER. 

Herodotus  stood  by  me  in  my  sleep, 
Handing  his  style  to  me.    "  And  shall  I  write 
Of  conquests  far  and  near,  the  fame  of  fight, 
How  men  will  combat,  and  how  mothers  weep  ? 

How  here  man's  skill  and  meditation  deep 
Bid  Nature  bend  to  serve  his  active  sprite : 
And  Time  and  Pain,  the  victors,  own  his  might, 
While  Famine  mocks   him  there  with  blasting 
sweep  ?  " 


The  Sage  replied,  "  Exploit  so  boldly  wrought, 
And  Death  so  dire,  through  every  history  clang. 
Let  this  thy  careful  muse  record  instead : 


whate'er  god  will. 


141 


That  they,  the  first,  by  wiser  counsel  taught, 
A  war  ship  sent  to  fight  with  Hunger's  pang, 
And  so  the  ancient  scoff  repaid  with  bread. " 


HYMNS  FROM  THE  GERMAN. 


TO  THE  ORIGINAL  MELODIES. 


I. 

"WAS  MEIN  GOTT  WILL,  GESCHEH1  ALL'ZEIT." 

COMPOSED  BY  ALBERT  OF  BRANDENBURG,  WHILE  SUFFERING 
IN  EXILE,  1566. 

Whate'er  God  will,  let  that  be  done ; 

His  will  is  ever  wisest : 
His  grace  will  all  thy  hope  outrun, 
Who  to  that  faith  arisest. 
The  gracious  Lord 
Will  help  afford ; 


142 


whate'er  god  will. 


He  chastens  with  forbearing : 

Who  God  believes, 

And  to  him  cleaves, 
Shall  not  be  left  despairing. 

My  God  is  my  sure  confidence, 
My  light  and  my  existence : 

His  counsel  is  beyond  my  sense, 

But  stirs  no  weak  resistance. 

His  wTord  declares 
v 

The  very  hairs 
Upon  my  head  are  numbered: 

His  mercy  large 

Holds  me  in  charge, 
With  care  that  never  slumbered. 

There  comes  a  day,  when,  at  his  will, 

The  pulse  of  Nature  ceases : 
I  think  upon  it,  and  am  still, 
Let  come  whate'er  he  pleases. 
To  him  I  trust 
My  soul,  my  dust, 


LORD,  TOUCH  MY  HEART. 


143 


When  flesh  and  spirit  sever : 

The  Christ  we  sing 

Has  plucked  the  sting 
Away  from  death  for  ever. 

II. 

"MEIN  HERR  UND  HEILAND,  LASS  MIR'S  GEHX 
ZU  HERZEN." 

Original  Melody,  —  "  Herzliebster  Jesu,"  &c. 

Lord,  touch  my  heart  with  that  great  consumma- 
tion, 

When  thou  didst  love  me  so  in  thy  last  passion  ; 
All  feelings  that  my  soul  from  thee  would  sunder, 
Help  to  keep  under. 

Thou  who  hast  once  to  the  grave's  rest  descended, 
When  on  the  cross  thy  work  for  us  was  ended, 
Grant  rest,  when  to  the  place  that  men  prepare  me 
They  sadly  bear  me. 


144     WHEREFORE,  THEN,  SHOULD  I  BE  GLOOMY? 


Give  sweet  repose  through  thine  own  bitter  sorrow, 
And  lift  my  soul  to  that  eternal  morrow 
Which  thou,  O  Lord !  for  mortal  man  suppliedst 
The  day  thou  diedst. 


in. 

"WARUM  SOLLT'  ICH  DENN  MICH  GRAMEN  ? " 

BY  PAUL  GERHARDT,  1653. 

Wherefore,  then,  should  I  be  gloomy? 
Still  have  I       Jesus  nigh  : 
Who  shall  take  him  from  me  ? 

Who  shall  rob  me  of  the  heaven 
Which  God's  Son       For  me  won, 
And  through  faith  has  given  ? 

I  began  our  life-scene  trying, 

Poor  and  bare ;       No  strength  there  ; 
Only  want  and  crying. 


WHEREFORE,  THEN,  SHOULD  I  BE  GLOOMY?  145 


Nought  can  I  of  all  its  heaping 
Bear  away       In  that  day 
When  to  earth  I'm  creeping. 

Goods  nor  blood  nor  frame  nor  living 
Are  my  own  :        God  alone 
Glads  me  in  their  giving. 

What  he  gave,  when  he  erases 
Part  or  whole,       Heart  and  soul 
Still  shall  hymn  his  praises. 

Should  he  give  a  cross  to  carry, 
Send  amain        Woe  and  pain, 
Ought  my  trust  to  vary  ? 

He  will  rule  them  in  the  sending: 
He  well  knows       How  to  choose 
What  shall  be  the  ending. 

God  has  oft  with  many  a  blessing 
Crowned  my  lot :        Shall  I  not 
Feel  some  burdens  pressing? 
10 


WHEREFORE,  THEN,  SHOULD  I  BE  GLOOMY? 

Good  is  he,  not  always  chiding : 
His  decree       Works  for  me 
Comforting  and  guiding. 

Death  has  not  the  power  to  slay  us ; 

Does  but  snatch       From  their  catch 

When  life's  ills  waylay  us ; 
Shuts  the  door  of  bitter  grieving, 

And  makes  way       For  the  day 
Of  the  heavens'  receiving. 

What  is  all  we  here  inherit 

But  a  hand       Full  of  sand, 

Weariness  of  spirit? 
There,  there,  is  the  noblest  treasure : 

Shepherd-wise,       Christ  supplies 

Without  end  or  measure. 


JOY,  MY  SOUL! 


147 


IV. 

"  FREU'  DICH  SEHR,  O  MEINE  SEELE!" 

[Caspar  von  Warnberg,  early  in  the  seventeenth  century. 
It  has  also  been  ascribed  to  Simon  Graf.  The  very  favorite 
melody  to  which  the  hymn  is  set  is  of  French  origin,  and  first 
appeared  in  the  Calvinistic  Psalter  of  1555.] 

Joy,  my  soul!  oh,  joy  attend  thee! 
Hence  all  thoughts  of  ill  and  ail ! 

Christ,  to  whom  I  do  commend  thee, 
Calls  from  out  the  tearful  vale : 
From  the  troubles  of  the  times, 
Leads  he  to  the  heavenly  climes ; 
Bliss  beyond  the  senses'  knowing, 
Ever  living,  ever  growing. 

As  we  see  the  summer  roses 

Through  the  thorns  unfold  their  charms, 
So  a  Christian  worth  discloses 

Through  besetting  threats  and  harms. 


JOY,  TilY  SOUL! 


As  the  billows  of  the  sea, 
As  the  windy  tempests  be, 
So  our  life's  uncertain  courses 
Oft  are  tossed  with  troubled  forces. 

Therefore  with  what  glad  persistence 
Press  I  on  where  thou  shalt  lead! 

Be  not,  O  my  Lord !  at  distance, 

Who  didst  save  when  thou  didst  bleed. 
Help,  that,  with  thy  spirit  blest, 
1  may  reach  thy  glorious  rest. 
Do  not,  then,  O  Lord !  forsake  me 
When  the  shadows  overtake  me. 


IN  CHRIST  MY  LIFE  IS  HIDDEN. 


149 


V. 

"CHRISTUS  DER  1ST  ME  IN  LEBEN." 

FROM  A  HYMN  BY  ANNA,  COUNTESS  OF  STOLBERG,  ABOUT  1600. 

Dying. 

In  Christ  my  life  is  hidden, 

And  it  is  gain  to  die : 
I  stay  where  I  am  bidden, 

And  go  without  a  sigh. 

When  powers  of  sense  and  reason 

Are  wavering  like  a  light 
That  flickers  a  short  season 

Before  it  sinks  in  night ; 

Then  gently  come  the  order, 

In  silence  calm  and  deep ; 
And  on  that  trembling  border, 

Lord,  let  me  fall  asleep. 


150 


JESU,  MY  JOY-GIVING. 


VI. 

"  JESU,  MEIKE  FREUDE." 

[Johann  Frank,  1653.  Formed  out  of  a  love-song,  "  Flora 
meine  Freude,"  something  like  Watts's  psalms  from  Solomon's 
"  Song  of  Songs."  It  soon  spread  over  Germany  and  beyond  it, 
though  not  without  objection.  Peter  the  Great  ordered  its  trans- 
lation into  Russian,  in  1724.] 

Jesu,  my  joy-giving, 

My  heart's  pastured  living, 

Jewel  I  most  prize  : 
Ah,  how  long  'tis  dreary, 
And  my  soul  a-weary, 
While  for  thee  it  sighs ! 
I  am  thine,       And  thou  art  mine, 
Lamb  of  God!    Oh,  nothing  earthy 
Shall  henceforth  look  worthy. 


JESU,  MY  JOY-GIVING. 


151 


Under  thy  defending, 
I  from  all  the  rending 
Of  all  foes  am  free. 
Let  the  thunders  rattle, 
Tempests  blow  their  battle  : 
Jesus  stands  by  me. 
Though  earth's  ball       To  ruin  fall, 
Though  both  death  and  hell  affright  me, 
He  will  shield  and  right  me. 

Though  my  sin  and  error 
Quail  at  Sinai's  terror, 
I  my  peace  have  got. 
Let  all  perils  hound  me ; 
Fatal  nets  surround  me : 
Jesus  fails  me  not. 
Fears  away       Of  judgment-day  ! 
Joyful  in  the  vision  given, 
Look  I  up  to  heaven. 


152 


JESU,  MY  JOY-GIYING. 


Hence,  ye  vain  possessions ! 
I  have  ever  fresh  ones,  — 

Jesus  my  supply. 
Hence  each  empty  honor, 
With  her  pride  upon  her! 
Glad  I  pass  you  by. 
Miseries,  straits,       And  pains  and  fates, 
Howsoe'er  I  must  endure  them, 
He  is  nigh  to  cure  them. 

All  the  hollow,  fleeting, 
Men  are  seeking,  greeting, 

I  for  me  resign  ; 
And  your  pleasant  vices, 
Towards  which  it  entices, 
Fill  no  cup  of  mine ! 
Last  good-night       To  proud  delight ! 
To  a  life  by  conscience  chidden 
Last  "  good-night "  be  bidden  ! 


AH  HOW  FLEETING,  AH  HOW  CHEATING!  153 


Spirits  of  disaster, 
Vanish !  for  my  Master 
Turns  to  me  his  feet. 
What  are  tears  and  sorrow? 
When  his  grace  I  borrow, 
Troubles  must  be  sweet. 
Bear  I  here        Scorn  and  fear ; 
Thou  art  with  me  in  my  grieving, 
Jesu,  my  joy-giving. 


VII. 

"  ACH  WIE  FLUCHTTG,  ACH  WLE  NICHTIG!" 

[Half  a  dozen  verses  from  the  thirteen  of  Michael  Frank.  The 
piece  appeared  in  his  "  Geistliches  Harfenspiel,"  1657 ;  but  was 
sung  as  early  as  1650.  There  have  been  four  melodies  to  it ;  one  of 
them  composed  by  Frank  himself.] 

Ah  how  fleeting,  ah  how  cheating, 

Is  the  life  of  mortals ! 
Like  a  mist,  first  lowly  lying, 
Mounting,  spreading,  scattering,  flying, — 
Such  is  life  from  birth  to  dying. 


AH  HOW  FLEETING,  AH  HOW  CHEATING: 

Ah  how  cheating,  ah  how  fleeting, 

Are  the  days  of  mortals ! 
As  a  stream  begins  its  flowing, 
Leaping  on  with  current  growing, 
So  our  time's  incessant  going. 

Ah  how  fleeting,  ah  how  cheating, 

Are  the  joys  of  mortals! 
Hours'  and  seasons'  shifting  measures, 
Peace  and  conflict,  gifts  and  seizures, — 
Such  are  all  our  earthly  pleasures. 

Ah  how  cheating,  ah  how  fleeting, 

Fairest  forms  of  mortals! 
As  the  floweret  hastes  to  wither, 
Blown  of  rough  winds  hither,  thither, 
So  our  beauty :  look  at  either. 

Ah  how  fleeting,  ah  how  cheating, 
Is  the  strength  of  mortals ! 


OH  THAT  I  HAD  A  THOUSAND  TONGUES !  155 


Who  to-day  is  striking,  fending, 
And  with  giants  stands  contending, 
In  to-morrow's  grave  finds  ending. 

Ah  how  cheating,  ah  how  fleeting, 

All  the  affairs  of  mortals ! 

All  we  look  on  or  endeavor, 

Time  will  waste,  or  Force  will  shiver : 

Who  hath  God  doth  bide  for  ever. 


VIII. 

O  DASS  ICH  TAUSEXD  ZUNGEN  HATTE  ! 

FOUR  VERSES  OF  THE  SIXTEEN  WRITTEN  BY  JOHANN  MENTZER, 

1704. 

Oh  that  a  thousand  tongues  were  granted, 
And  room  and  power  to  use  them  all ! 

The  praise  of  God  should  then  be  chanted 
From  inmost  heart  to  outmost  wall; 

Since  what  the  Lord  for  me  hath  wrought 

Exceeds  all  utterance  and  all  thought. 


OH  THAT  I  HAD  A  THOUSAND  TONGUES ! 


Oh  that  my  voice  on  high  were  sounding 

As  far  as  sun  e'er  set  or  rose ; 
That  all  my  blood  with  joy  were  bounding 

As  long  as  through  my  veins  it  flows ! 
Might  thanks  to  every  pulse  belong, 
And  every  breath  go  forth  a  song. 

Whose  hand  is  all  my  good  bestowing? 

'Tis  His  alone  who  all  things  doth. 
Who  spreads  defence  round  all  my  going? 

The  mighty  God  of  Sabaoth. 
Thou  by  thy  counsel  guidest  me, 
And  through  that  aid  I  safe  must  be. 

Then  keep  not  silence,  ye  my  powers ! 

Up,  up;  use  all  your  diligence, 
And  bless  as  dear  allies  of  ours 

The  Godhead  and  the  Providence. 
Up,  O  my  soul!  and  all  within 
Begin  his  praise,  and  still  begin. 


I  KNOW  THAT  MY  REDEEMER  LIVES. 


157 


IX. 

ICH  WEISS  DASS  MEIN  ERLOSER  LEBT. 

PAUL  GERHARDT, 1650. 

Melody,  —  "  Was  Gott  thut,  das  ist  wohl  gethan." 

I  know  that  my  Redeemer  lives ; 

He  is  my  life  already : 
Whoso  to  him  his  heart's  trust  gives 

Against  death's  fear  is  steady. 
I  onward  tread        The  way  he  led  : 

For  night,  and  night's  drear  feelings, 

Comes  light  with  sweet  revealings. 

Thou  liv'st,  thou  liv'st,  in  hero-worth ; 

The  under-world  surrenders :' 
Thou  art  the  champion  of  the  earth, 

The  trust  of  poor  offenders. 


L58 


I  KNOW  THAT  MY  REDEEMER  LIVES. 


Who  cleave  to  thee       Shall  pass  on  free, 
Of  sin's  load  disencumbered ; 
With  ransomed  spirits  numbered. 

Thou  liv'st,  my  Healer ;  healing  still, 

And  daily,  my  diseases  : 
Thou  strengthenest  me  in  every  ill; 

It  scares  not  when  it  seizes. 
Oh  !  live  in  me,       That  I  in  thee 

May  blessedly  be  living, 

Beyond  the  world's  conceiving. 

Thou  livest ;  in  the  dark  my  light, 

My  comfort  in  my  anguish  : 
Thou'lt  not  desert  thy  servant  quite, 

Nor  leave  his  soul  to  languish. 
Advice  in  need,       And  strength  in  deed, 

And  life  to  heaven  projected, 

Thou  giv'st  to  thine  elected. 


IN  THINE  ANGER  SMITE  ME  NOT. 


159 


Address  thee  more  and  more,  my  heart, 

To  joys  that  are  unending ; 
While  now  with  pleasures,  now  with  smart, 

Thou  still  must  be  contending. 
With  spirit  true       The  fight  pursue  ; 

Then  shall  e'en  I  be  sharing 

The  crowns  that  are  preparing. 


X. 

"  STRAF'  MICH  XICHT  IX  DEIXEM  ZORX." 

[George  Albinus.    Rosenmiiller1s  Melody,  1655,  is  much 
admired.] 

In  thine  anger  smite  me  not ; 

Lord  Almighty,  spare  me ! 
Show  the  Fount  of  Grace,  and  what 

That  alone  can  bear  me. 

Sins  provoke       Thy  sharp  stroke ; 

Stripes  of  Christ's  own  feeling 

Let  me  find  my  healing. 


160 


IN  THINE  ANGER  SMITE  ME  NOT. 


Show  to  me  thy  Father-heart ; 
Stay  with  Trust  my  failing  ; 

Teach  thy  child  how  good  thou  art ; 
Soothe  my  heavy  wailing ; 
That  to  thee,  Constantly, 
Mightiest,  Blessed,  Ever-living, 
May  be  poured  thanksgiving. 

Evil  spirits,  off'  from  me! 

God  hath  heard  my  pleading: 
Now  with  joy  the  path  I  see 

To  his  presence  leading. 

Off!  I  cry;        Demons,  fly! 

What  was  once  distressing, 

God  pours  out  —  a  blessing. 

Ah,  how  gladly  can  my  breast 
From  these  vain  things  sever; 

Take  a  soft  and  sacred  rest, 
Waiting  joys  for  ever; 


WHAT  GOD  DOTH,  IS  ALL  DONE  WELL.  161 


Which  he  there       Doth  prepare. 
Where  in  heavenly  regions 
Float  the  angel  legions ! 


XI. 

WAS  GOTT  THUT  DAS  1ST  WOHLGETHAN. 

[This  hymn  was  written  at  Jena  by  Samuel  Rodigast  in 
1675,  for  a  sick  friend,  who  composed  the  fine  melody  to  which 
it  is  set.] 

What  God  doth,  it  is  all  well  done, 

His  will  upright  abiding : 
Since  he  hath  traced  my  course  begun, 
I  will  go  on  confiding. 
My  God  is  he 
Who  holdeth  me : 
I  will  not  turn  complainer 
At  such  a  wise  Ordainer. 

11 


162 


WHAT  GOD  DOTH,  IS  ALL  DONE  WELL. 


What  God  doth,  it  is  all  well  done ; 

He  never  will  deceive  me : 
In  righteous  paths  he  leadeth  on, 
And  never  will  he  leave  me. 
With  patience  still 
I  meet  his  will : 
111  days  he  timely  closeth, 
That  run  as  he  disposeth. 

What  God  doth,  it  is  all  well  done ; 

His  care  will  be  unfailing : 
A  Healer,  and  a  wondrous  one, 
Will  not  mistake  my  ailing. 
No  poisons  his 
For  remedies. 
His  truth  is  my  foundation ; 
His  grace  my  whole  salvation. 

What  God  doth,  it  is  all  well  done ; 

He  is  my  light  and  being. 
Mere  evil  he  can  mean  me  none : 

I  bow  to  his  decreeing. 


WHAT  GOD  DOTH,  IS  ALL  DONE  WELL. 


Through  weal  or  woe, 

Time  still  will  show, 
Which  every  thing  revealeth, 
How  faithfully  he  dealeth. 

What  God  doth,  it  is  all  well  done. 

If  I  must  drink  the  chalice, 
The  bitter  cup  which  I  would  shun, 
My  shrinking  soul  he  rallies; 
And,  firmly  placed, 
My  heart  shall  taste 
That  sweet  peace  in  believing 
Which  softens  down  all  grieving. 

What  God  doth,  it  is  all  well  done : 

Strong  shall  that  make  and  find  me. 
Rough  ways  I  may  be  forced  to  run, 
Griefs  pressing  close  behind  me; 
Yet  God  will  be 
Right  fatherly ; 
In  death  his  arm  sustaineth : 
Then  be  it  he  that  reigneth. 


164 


COMMIT  THY  WAY  TO  GOD. 


XII. 

"  BEFIEFIL  DU  DEINE  WEGE." 

[The  hymn,  of  which  only  a  part  is  here  presented,  was  written 
by  Paul  Gerhardt,  and  first  printed  in  1659.   It  resembles  so  muc 
a  favorite  piece  in  our  own  hymn-books,  styled  "Moravian,"  an 
beginning,  "  Give  to  the  winds  thy  fears,"  as  to  allow  no  doubt 
that  we  have  here  the  foundation  of  those  English  verses.] 

Commit  the  way  before  thee, 

And  all  that  grieves  the  soul, 
To  Him  whose  care  is  o'er  thee, 

Who  guides  the  starry  Whole. 
He  gives  their  path  and  motion 

To  cloud,  wind,  water-flow; 
And  points  to  thy  devotion 

A  way  thy  foot  can  go. 

To  God  resign  the  leading, 
Wouldst  thou  be  led  indeed ; 

And  to  his  ways  give  heeding, 
If  thy  ways  would  succeed. 


COMMIT  THY  WAY  TO  GOD. 


165 


With  fret  and  hard  endeavors, 

And  self-relying  pains, 
Thou  forcest  not  his  favors  : 

He  grants  thee  all  thy  gains. 

Thine  endless  truth  and  mercies, 

O  Father!  keep  in  mind, 
What  prospers  or  what  pierces 

The  weal  of  human  kind. 
Whate'er  thy  will  thou  makest 

We  shall  in  action  find : 
Thou  unto  issues  takest 

Whate'er  thy  thought  designed. 

All  powers  are  thy  possessing; 

All  means  are  in  thy  sight : 
Thine  act  is  purely  blessing ; 

Thy  path  is  purely  light. 
Thy  work  there  is  no  thwarting; 

It  knows  no  let  nor  rest; 
While  thou  each  lot  art  sorting 

As  suits  thy  children  best. 


BREAK  FORTH,  BEAUTEOUS  LIGHT  OF  DAY ! 

Oh!  make  me  draw  no  longer 

One  hard,  repining  breath ; 
But  foot  and  hand  nerve  stronger, 

And  help  us  to  the  death, 
To  stand,  our  souls  commending 

In  thine  all-faithful  eye : 
So  shall  our  ways  go  tending 

To  nobler  scenes  on  high. 


XIII. 

At  Morning. 
BRICH  AN  DU  SCHOXES  TAGESLICHT. 

Break  forth,  thou  beauteous  light  of  day 
Appear  in  all  thy  purple  splendor! 

To  Him,  the  fount  of  every  ray, 
My  tribute  I  will  with  thee  render. 

Yea,  Lord!    Lift  all  my  soul  and  sense, 

To  praise  thy  bright  beneficence. 


BREAK  FORTH,  BEAUTEOUS  LIGHT  OF  DAY ! 


Thou  hast,  with  loving  hand  to  guide, 
Protected  me  in  need  and  sorrows ; 

All  danger  softly  turned  aside, 

And  borne  me  through  to  many  morrows. 

For  guardian  care  through  this  night's  shade. 

Be  humble  thanks  devoutly  paid. 

Now  light  in  me  the  flame  anew, 

The  life  awaking,  spirit  firing ; 
That  I  the  right  path  may  pursue, 

To  highest  life  and  truth  aspiring ; 
Not  halting  in  myself  alone, 
But —  Christ  within  me  —  on  and  on. 

Grant,  Thou  who  all  things  in  us  dost, 
Awakened  faith's  serene  enjoyment; 

That,  through  the  steady  power  of  Trust, 
I  may  fulfil  thy  high  employment : 

Then  shall  my  love-enkindled  heart 

Share,  weal  or  woe,  my  neighbor's  part. 


168     BREAK  FORTH,  BEAUTEOUS  LIGHT  OF  DAY ! 

I  aim,  O  Lord !  at  no  high  state : 
Adopt  me ;  that  alone  can  raise  me. 

And  wealth  I  cannot  richly  rate : 

'Tis  Christ  alone  supplies  and  stays  me. 

But  dwell  thy  Spirit  in  my  breast, 

And  I  can  well  forego  the  rest. 

My  Father !  I  myself  resign 

This  day  anew  to  thy  good  pleasure. 

Oh !  graciously  my  heart  incline 

My  steps  in  thy  true  fear  to  measure. 

Let  all  my  works  in  Thee  proceed ; 

Thy  name  be  hallowed  in  my  deed. 


BE  THOU  GLAD,  MV  INMOST  BEING.  169 

XIV. 

At  Evening. 

"  WERDE  MIINTER,  ME  IN  GEMUTHE." 

[Johann  Rist,  1642.  The  translator  has  not  only  taken  the 
usual  liberty  of  leaving  out  some  of  the  verses,  hut,  in  one  instance, 
has  combined  two  verses  by  taking  a  part  from  each.] 

Be  thou  glad,  my  inmost  being; 

And,  ye  senses,  lead  before ; 
All  the  heavenly  goodness  seeing 

Lavished  on  us  more  and  more: 
That  He  still,  from  day  to  day, 
Through  an  all-imperilled  way, 
Has  so  helped  me  in  my  quailing, 
That  no  foe  has  been  prevailing. 

Father  of  all  tender  mercies ! 

Praise  and  thanks  to  Thee  we  bring, 
Who  hast  saved  us  from  reverses, 

And  from  every  evil  thing ; 


170  BE  THOU  GLAD,  MY  INMOST  BEING. 


And,  from  sins  on  many  a  side, 
Faithfully  hast  kept  me  wide  : 
Yea,  and  foes  far  hence  hast  driven, 
So  that  they  no  harm  have  given. 

Skill  of  numbers  cannot  mete  them, — 
All  the  favors  thou  hast  shown  ; 

Nor  the  speaker's  tongue  repeat  them,  — 
All  the  works  thy  grace  makes  known. 

Wondrous  is  thy  goodness  found; 

Without  measure,  without  bound : 

So  has  thy  compassion  guided, 

That  no  mischief  has  betided. 

Let  this  night,  no  outcry  hearing, 
Sweet  and  gentle  slumber  bring ; 

Cover  me,  in  solemn  cheering, 
With  the  shadow  of  thy  wing. 

Be  to  me,  O  Father !  nigh  ; 

Throw  thy  light  beyond  my  eye; 

Let  no  blow  or  fright  confound  me, 

When  there's  nought  but  darkness  round  me. 


0  LORD,  HOW  LOXG  SHALT  THOU  CHASTISE?  171 
XV. 

HERR,  DER  DU  VORMALS  HAST  DEIN  LAND. 
Melody,  —  "  Aus  tiefer  Xotli  ruf 1  ich  zu  Dir." 

(BY  PAUL  GERHARDT,  FIRST  PRINTED  EN  1G53.) 

Lord,  who  aforetime  hast  thy  land 
With  favoring  power  defended, 

And,  when  it  felt  thy  chastening  hand, 
A  mercy  still  attended ; 

Thou,  who  hast  ever  gracious  been 

To  pardon  all  thy  people's  sin, 
And  loosen  all  their  burdens, — 

Shall  now  thy  chastisement  severe, 
O  Heavenly  Lord !  be  endless  ? 

Clean  gone  thy  loving-kindness  dear, 
And  we  for  ever  friendless  ? 


172     0  LORD,  HOW  LONG  SHALT  THOU  CHASTISE? 


O  God,  our  Healer!  bear  us  through, 
And  cheer  our  fainting  hearts  anew, 
That  at  thy  wrath  are  troubled. 

Oh,  would  were  heard  with  trumpet  sound 
The  eternal  Word,  proclaiming 

That  peace  should  o'er  the  earth  abound, 
Wherever  Christ  is  naming! 

That  all  who  in  that  calling  stand 

Would  cast  their  weapons  from  their  hand, 
And  rest  in  peaceful  dwellings ! 

Where  Christians  now  in  bloody  press 

Assail  each  man  his  brother, 
In  coming  ages,  Righteousness 

And  Peace  shall  kiss  each  other. 
Where  now  the  sword  of  maddened  strife 
Leaves  ravaged  fields  and  murdered  life, 

Shall  Truth  walk  on  with  Mercy. 


SMITE,  LORD,  ON  MY  WORLDLY  SENSE.  173 


The  fruitful  rain  and  gentlest  dew 
The  wasted  plains  shall  nourish ; 

And  Nature,  all  created  new, 

With  all  her  crowns  shall  flourish. 

Whate'er  the  gifts  our  God  imparts, 

Fail  not  the  grace  of  thankful  hearts, 
The  highest  of  his  giving! 


XVI. 

"O  DURCHBRECHER  ALLER  BAjNTDE  ! " 

GOTTFRIED  ARNOLD,  1697.* 

Thou  who  breakest  every  fetter  ; 

Who  art  ever  by  my  side  ; 
Who  canst  make  disgraces  better 

Than  all  earthly  joy  and  pride ! 

*  Three  verses  out  of  ten.  There  is  a  wholly  different  hymn, 
though  beginning  with  the  same  line,  and  running  to  the  same 
measure,  in  the  "  Berliner  Gesangbuch."  The  melody  is  the  same 
with  "  0  du  Liebe  meiner  Liebe  !  " 


SMITE,  LORD,  ON  MY  WORLDLY  SENSE. 

Let  thy  judgments,  further,  stronger, 
Smite  upon  my  worldly  sense, 

Till  the  prison  holds  no  longer, 
Till  thine  angel  leads  me  thence. 

Labors  yet  the  whole  creation  ; 

And  we  groan,  and  strive,  and  pray 
That  thy  Word  may  bring  salvation 

From  brute  Nature's  iron  sway ; 
From  the  service  of  things  vainest, 

Which  so  rules  and  chains  the  heart, 
Though  thy  Spirit  points  the  plainest 

To  the  high  and  better  part. 

Are  we  slaves  of  wrong  affection, 

Snared  in  joys  that  cannot  bless? 
Leave  us  not  to  that  subjection, 

To  that  death,  of  selfishness. 
That  deliverance  will  not  linger 

If  ourselves  no  sluggards  be ; 
Oh  the  rapture,  when  God's  finger 

Turneth  our  captivity ! 


JESUS  IS  MY  CONFIDENCE. 


175 


XVII 

"JESUS,  MEINE  ZUVERSICHT." 

[Written  by  the  Electress  Luise  Henriette  von  Brandenburg, 
after  her  great  bereavement,  in  1649.  First  printed  in  the  "  Ber- 
liner Gesangbuch  "  of  1653,  it  has  ever  since  been  a  great  favorite 
throughout  Germany,  and  especially  in  Prussia.  It  was  sung  over 
the  grave  of  Alexander  von  Humboldt,  in  May,  1859.  Schubert 
says  of  it:  "This  song  was  the  funeral-song  of  my  father,  my 
mother,  and  my  sainted  wife,  and  is  therefore  peculiarly  dear  to 
me ;  so  that  I  have  often  repeated  it  with  tears  and  longing." 
Only  six  of  the  ten  verses  are  here  presented.] 

Jesus  is  my  confidence, 

Not  by  man's  conceit  invented ; 

Living  Saviour!  that  defence 

Still  must  keep  my  heart  contented, 

Whatsoever  thoughts  of  fright 

Startle  at  the  long  death-night. 

Jesus,  my  Redeemer,  lives ; 

I  shall  live  at  his  appearing, 
With  the  life  his  presence  gives ; 

Why,  then,  now  be  grieving,  fearing  ? 


176 


JESUS  IS  MY  CONFIDENCE. 


Does  the  head  the  members  quit, 
And  not  draw  them  after  it  ? 

I  am,  through  the  covenant  band, 
All  securely  with  him  plighted ; 

Holding  him  with  Faith's  strong  hand, 
When  life's  ties  are  disunited ; 

So  that  no  severe  death-ban 

Part  me  from  his  presence  can. 

I  am  dust;  and  'tis  in  vain 

Dust  would  keep  from  being  scattered ; 
But  I  know  he  will  again 

Shape  anew  what  death  has  shattered ; 
That  within  the  upper  sky 

I  may  dwell  eternally. 

Body,  such  as  God  shall  please, 

Will  the  new  world  throw  around  me ; 

Which  the  Lord  in  glory  sees, 

When  he  with  his  grace  has  crowned  me. 


LORD,  HOW  OFT  I  HAVE  OFFENDED  !  177 

Then  shall  my  transfigured  frame 
View  his  face  and  bless  his  name. 

Griefs  that  weep,  and  pains  that  groan, 

Vanish  at  his  kind  effacing : 
Earthy  was  I  darkly  sown, 

Heavenly  grow  I  at  the  raising. 
Let  the  flesh  decay,  while  I 
Spring  to  immortality. 


XVIIL 

"  HERR,  ICH  HABE  MISSGEHAXDELT." 

Lord,  how  oft  I  have  offended ! 

"Weights  of  sin  have  kept  me  low ; 
Thither  have  my  steps  not  tended, 
Where  thy  law  would  have  me  go. 
Fain  my  sad  soul  I  would  cover 
From  the  judgments  hanging  over. 
12 


LORD,  HOW  OFT  I  HAVE  OFFENDED ! 

Ah !  but  where  is  safety  lying  ? 

Lo,  thy  presence  everywhere ! 
Should  I  o'er  the  sea  go  flying, 

Should  I  to  earth's  deeps  repair, 
Would  the  wind's  swift  wings  infold  i 
Even  there  thy  hand  would  hold  me. 

I  must  own  my  guilt  has  mounted 
Up  to  heaven,  and  in  thy  sight : 

Can  I  still  thy  child  be  counted  ? 
Ah,  do  not  forsake  me  quite ! 

Not  according  to  thy  terrors, 

Judge,  O  Lord !  thy  servant's  errors. 

Be  thy  Spirit  my  assistance, 

With  its  conquering  sign  unfurled ; 

Help  me  make  a  firm  resistance 
To  the  evil  in  the  world. 

Let  me  no  more  stray  or  falter, 

As  I  compass,  Lord,  thine  altar. 


MY  LANGUID  SPIRIT,  UPWARD  SPRING.  179 


XIX. 
CHRISTMAS. 

i 

"ERMUNTRE  DICH,  MEIN  SCHWACHER  GEIST." 

My  languid  spirit,  upward  spring ; 

And,  full  of  high  emotion., 
The  Saviour,  whom  the  angels  sing, 

Receive  with  glad  devotion. 
This  is  the  night  on  which  he  came, 
With  infant  form  and  humble  name. 

He  will,  through  birth  and  passion, 

Be  Reconciliation. 

Thou  who  rejoicest  all  my  heart, 
My  sovereign  good  in  living! 

For  all  thy  love,  on  my  poor  part, 
What  can  I  think  of  giving? 


MY  LANGUID  SPIRIT,  UPWARD  SPRING. 


Lord,  all  I  am,  or  can  possess, 
I  render  in  my  thankfulness. 

Each  joy  and  each  disaster 

Shall  bind  me  to  thee  faster. 

a 

Though  now  unseen,  thou  com'st  again, 
With  countless  saints  attending ; 

And  every  eye  shall  see  thee  then, 
In  clouds  of  heaven  descending. 

Then  I,  too,  shall  behold  thee,  Lord, 

With  glorious  grace  around  thee  poured ; 
And  there,  where  God  doth  raise  thee, 
With  all  thy  ransomed  praise  thee. 


NEW  YEAR. 


XX. 

NEW  YEAR. 

"WIE  VIEL  WIR  JAHRE  ZAHLEX." 

Melody,  —  "  Xun  ruhen  alle  Walder." 

So  many  years  of  living 

As  God  has  yet  been  giving, 
Now  fail  from  life's  amount ; 

And  strength  is  disappearing, 

As  age  is  nearing,  nearing, 
Its  work  and  gain  of  small  account. 

And  as  this  year  is  failing, 
The  path  the  earth  is  sailing 

To  shorter  daylight  grown ; 
So  hastes,  with  it  to  perish, 
What  Time  must  breed  and  cherish, 

Time,  by  which  all  is  overthrown. 


182 


NEW  YEAR. 


As  one  year  in  its  going 

Has  others  in  its  showing, 
The  old  points  on  to  new ; 

The  sun  we  saw  descending, 

And  with  the  shadows  blending, 
Soon  climbs  aloft  the  morning  blue ; 

So,  too,  though  we  grow  older, 

And  hand  and  thought  grow  colder, 
We  forward  look,  elate. 

The  deeper  the  declining, 

The  nearer  to  the  joining 
With  the  unseen,  eternal  state. 

O  thou,  the  ever-living, 

Through  whose  death  we're  surviving 
All  count  of  years  and  time ; 

With  thee  live  all  thou  savest, 

For  whom  thyself  thou  gavest, 
And  chosest  to  thy  realm  sublime. 


FROM  LOWEST  DEEPS  I  CRY,  0  GOD  !  183 
XXI. 

"AUS  TIEFER  NOTH  RUF'  ICH  ZU  DIR." 

[The  famous  One  Hundred  and  Thirtieth  Psalm,  "  De  pro- 
fundis  clamavi ; "  paraphrased  by  Martin  Luther,  1524.] 

From  lowest  deeps  I  cry,  O  God ! 

In  thee  all  hope  doth  centre ; 
Do  not  with  me,  who  dread  thy  rod, 

Into  strict  judgment  enter. 
For  if  thou  look  severely  through 
The  sin  and  wrong  that  mortals  do, 

What  flesh  could  stand  before  thee  ? 

There's  nought  avails  but  sovereign  grace, 

To  cover  our  transgressions  ; 
And  man's  deserts  fill  little  place 

In  the  best  life's  confessions. 
No  claim  is  heard,  and  boasting  none ; 
But  fears  before  thee  every  one, 

And  lives  to  Grace,  Grace  only. 


FROM  LOWEST  DEEPS  I  CRY,  0  GOD ! 

On  God  alone  my  hope  I  plant, 
And  nought  on  my  deserving ; 

To  thee  committing  my  sore  want, 
In  thee  my  spirit  nerving. 

The  promise  of  thy  precious  word 

That  trust  and  refuge  must  accord, 
On  which  I  wait  for  ever. 

And  though  delayed  till  falls  the  night, 
Delayed  till  breaks  the  morning, 

I'll  not  mistrust  the  Heavenly  Might,  — 
All  other  succor  scorning. 

Such  is  the  true  believer's  way, 

Who,  of  the  Spirit  born,  can  say, 
"  I  live  this  true  believing." 

Although  our  stubborn  sins  prevail, 
God's  love  much  more  aboundeth ; 

His  power  to  help  can  never  fail, 
Whatever  harm  surroundeth. 


MY  REDEEMER  QUIT  I  NOT. 


185 


He  only  the  Good  Shepherd  is, 
Who  will  from  all  their  trespasses 
Redeem  his  people.  Amen. 

XXII. 

"MEINEN  JESUM  LASS  ICH  NICHT. 

CHRISTIAN  KENMANN,  1656. 

My  Redeemer  quit  I  not, 
Him  for  me  his  life  bestowing  ; 

Owe  I  not  my  grateful  thought, 
To  him  cleaving,  in  him  growing  ? 

He's  my  portion  and  my  lot : 

My  Redeemer  quit  I  not. 

Jesus  will  I  never  quit ;  — 
When  this  mortal  life  is  closing, 

Full  of  faith  my  soul  shall  flit, 
Yielding  all  to  his  disposing. 


186 


MY  REDEEMER  QUIT  I  NOT. 


Heart  and  tongue  the  strain  have  caught 
"  My  Redeemer  quit  I  not." 

Let  it  go,  the  strength  of  sight,  — 
All  the  powers  of  sense  be  failing ; 

Let  the  latest  beams  of  light 
In  the  feeble  eyes  be  paling ; 

When  the  frame  its  death  has  got, 

My  Redeemer  quit  I  not. 

I  shall  ne'er  his  presence  quit ; 
When  I  reach  the  heavenly  dwelling 

Where  the  faith  of  Holy  Writ, 
Turned  to  sight,  its  joy  is  telling ; 

What  shall  veil  its  glory  ?    What  ? 

My  Redeemer  quit  I  not. 


MY  DAY  WITHOUT  A  MORROW. 


XXIII. 

"  DER  LETZTE  MEINER  TAGE." 
Melody, —  "  Aus  meines  Herzens  Grande." 

My  day  without  a  morrow 

Now  cannot  tarry  long  Q 
Oh,  then  all  cries  of  sorrow 

Shall  turn  to  praise  and  song. 

No  further  griefs  annoy ; 
No  trials  spread  out  later : 
My  Lord  and  Mediator 

Then  takes  me  to  his  joy. 

Already  on  my  vision 

There  streams  the  higher  light ; 
With  ecstasy  Elysian 

It  fills  and  floods  my  sight. 


MY  DAY  WITHOUT  A  MORROW. 


Then  in  my  joy  I  see 
The  angels  are  my  brothers, 
More  close  than  any  others ; 

And  praise  God's  majesty. 

With  garlands  all  unfading 

His  goodness  decks  my  brow ; 
His  grace  so  richly  aiding, 

I  can  do  all  things  now. 

The  sufferer's  goal  is  won ; 
And  he  the  chaplet  twineth, 
In  which  the  conqueror  shineth 

Who  in  the  fight  holds  on. 

There  stands  the  eternal  dwelling 
Which  God  hath  built  on  high 

And  circled  saints  are  telling 
The  glory  that  is  nigh. 
There  tears  are  wiped  away ; 


MY  DAY  WITHOUT  A  MORROW. 


There  reigns  perpetual  gladness ; 
And  each  dark  heart  of  sadness 
Is  cheered  with  God's  own  ray. 

What  though,  with  faith  unfeigned, 

With  love  that's  true  and  fast, 
And  earnest  works  unstained, 

I  be  in  trouble  cast  ? 

O  Prince  of  Life  to  come ! 
Within  thy  covenant  hold  me, 
Until  the  hour  infold  me, 

When  thou  shalt  call  me  home. 

Let  no  black  lamentation 

To  earth  drag  down  my  sense. 
The  longest  life's  duration 

Is  soon  departed  hence. 

Hail  to  me !    Last  of  days 
Is  quick  with  its  last  warning ; 
And  then  all  cries  of  mourning 

Are  turned  to  song  and  praise. 


190     "COME,  MORTALS,  TO  MY  JUDGMENT-DAY." 
XXIV. 

"DER  TAG  AN  DEM  ME  IN"  HELL  AND  SPRICHT." 
Melody,  —  "  O  Ewigkeit,  du  Donnerwort !  " 

The  time  when  Christ  the  Lord  shall  say, 
"  Come,  mortals,  to  my  Judgment-Day," 

No  trembling  dread  strikes  through  me. 
He  who  has  called  me  of  his  sheep, 
Within  whose  death  I  fell  asleep, 

Will  speak  his  grace  unto  me. 
I  can  upon  his  promise  rest, 
That  with  his  face  I  shall  be  blest. 

I  joy  to  think  of  that  great  time, 
When,  glorified,  to  God's  own  clime 

My  soul  shall  be  admitted. 
Hail  to  me,  when,  from  sin  set  free, 
I  shall  with  Christ  for  ever  be, 

And  for  his  presence  fitted; 
When  I  can  with  the  ransomed  throng 
Unite  to  raise  a  nobler  song. 


CHRIST  IS  RISEN,  CHRIST  IS  RISEN. 


191 


There,  where  my  Lord  in  state  attends, 
Dwells  joy  that  every  thought  transcends 

And  every  raptured  feeling. 
He  who  on  earth  such  love  had  shown 
What  holds  he  back,  now  on  his  throne, 

All  treasured  grace  revealing  ? 
From  him  flow  forth  our  joy  and  peace, 
In  endless  fulness  of  increase. 


XXV. 
For  Easter. 
"  AUFERSTAXDEX,  AUFERSTAXDEX." 

[BY  C.  C.  STURM.     FOUND  ONLY  IN  RECENT  BOOKS.] 

Melody,  —  "  Sollt1  ich  meinem  Gott  -nicht  singen." 

Christ  is  risen,  Christ  is  risen, 
He  by  whom  we're  reconciled ; 

See  how  God  from  pang  and  prison 
Has  with  honor  crowned  his  Child. 


CHRIST  IS  RISEN,  CHRIST  IS  RISEN. 


Now  enthroned  there  with  the  Father, 

Over  pain  and  death  set  high, 

Reigns  he  in  his  majesty. 
With  your  prostrate  homage  gather, 

For  he  life  immortal  gives. 

Hallelujah !  Jesus  lives. 

He  is  risen,  sing  ye  praises, 

Who  his  blood  on  Calvary  spilled ; 
Shout  it  loud  in  farthest  places ; 

What  he  promised  he  fulfilled. 
Who  withstands  ?    And  why  dissemble 

See  him  mount  in  glorious  worth ; 

Bright  in  triumph  breaks  he  forth. 
See  how  Hell's  black  portals  tremble, 

As  the  Conqueror  at  them  drives. 

Hallelujah!  Jesus  lives. 

Us  from  death-doom  to  deliver, 
Sank  he  in  the  grave's  dark  night ; 

Us  to  raise  to  life  for  ever, 

Rose  he  through  the  Father's  might. 


CHRIST  IS  RISEN,  CHRIST  IS  RISEN. 


Death,  thou  art  in  victory  swallowed, 

All  thy  terrors  overblown  ; 

All  thine  Empire  overthrown; 
Life  is  now  achieved  and  hallowed. 

Though  the  Spoiler  still  bereaves, 

Hallelujah !  Jesus  lives. 

To  the  Father  he  ascended, 

Lifting  man  from  death's  domain. 

Life  that's  in  him  spent  and  ended 
Tastes  and  sees  that  death  is  gain. 

Hold  amidst  your  pain  and  pleasure 
Jesus  Christ  in  memory, 
Loosed  from  death's  captivity. 

His  are  joys  beyond  all  measure, 
Who  for  heavenly  prizes  strives. 
Hallelujah !  Jesus  lives. 

Children  of  the  great  Renewer, 
Joy  in  him  with  thanks  and  song ; 

Bring  to  him,  the  Death- Subduer, 
Crowns  that  to  such  name  belong. 
13 


194         UP,  YE  CHRISTIANS,  JOIN  IN  SINGING. 


Praise  him  in  the  hours  of  trial, 

Then  when  Sin  and  Misery  threat ; 

Praise  him  in  the  mortal  sweat; 
Give  his  great  call  no  denial, 

Who  the  outcast  soul  receives. 

Hallelujah !  Jesus  lives. 


XXYI. 
Easter  Time. 
"AUF,  IHR  CHRISTEN,  LASST  UNS  SINGEK" 
Melody, — "  Wachet  auf!  ruft  uns  die  Stimme." 

Up,  ye  Christians,  join  in  singing, 
And  praises  to  our  Saviour  bringing ; 

For  risen  is  the  Conqueror. 
Lo !  his  march  is  now  undoubted, 
And  all  the  powers  of  Death  are  routed ; 

Lo !  open  is  the  sepulchre. 


UP,  YE  CHRISTIANS,  JOIN  IN  SINGING. 

O  fair  and  glorious  beam ! 
O  joy  in  fullest  stream! 
Hallelujah ! 

With  hero  might 

He  wins  the  fight, 
And  scatters  all  the  hosts  of  night. 

Though  inheriting  corruption, 

Yet  now  we  see  our  great  adoption ; 

And  death  is  but  life's  opening  door. 
Now  that  Jesus  has  the  better, 
Broken  is  the  spoiler's  fetter; 

We  go  to  Him  wlio  went  before. 
The  body  wastes  at  death ; 
The  spirit  feels  no  scath. 
Hallelujah! 
From  pain  and  fate 
Emancipate, 
We  enter  our  divine  estate. 


196        GRACE  ALONE  BESTOWS  THE  BLESSING. 


XXVII. 

"AUS  GXADEN  SOLL  ICH  SELIG  WERDEN." 
Melody,  —  "  Wer  nur  den  lieben  Gott  lasst  walten." 

BY  J.  G.  W.  FOKSTMAJSnST. 

[Another  hymn  is  in  the  Psalm  Books,  with  the  same  first  line 
and  to  the  same  tune,  ascribed  to  Christian  Ludwig  Scheitz,  1742.] 

From  Grace  alone  descends  the  blessing, 

And  I  am  safe  and  reconciled ; 
For  no  desert  of  my  possessing, 

The  Father  owns  me  for  his  child. 
Through  my  Redeemer  I  am  pure ; 
Through  Grace  my  hope  is  ever  sure. 

Through  Grace ;  —  for  who  can  be  deserving 
Of  what  the  Saviour  Christ  has  done, 

Who,  through  his  cross  and  passion  serving, 
For  guilty  men  a  pardon  won ; 

When  he,  who  knew  no  speck  of  sin, 

Chose  that  sharp  road  to  travel  in  ? 


GRACE  ALONE  BESTOWS  THE  BLESSING.  197 


By  Grace  'twas  done.    Revive,  ye  sinners, 
Made  clean  by  what  he  underwent ! 

The  law-condemned  are  heaven-winners, 
Believing  now  and  penitent. 

What  gifts,  which  he  alone  can  bring ! 

The  culprit  is  a  priest  and  king. 

Oh,  then,  with  feelings  glad  but  lowly, 
Extol  the  hope  on  mercy  built ! 

Presume  not  on  that  goodness  holy, 
And  thus  be  heaping  guilt  on  guilt. 

For  they  who  trifle  with  such  love 

Shall  find  their  trust  a  ruin  prove. 

Help,  Lord,  through  Grace  to  be  confiding ; 

Be  with  me  when  my  strength  is  small ; 
And,  when  my  treacherous  feet  are  sliding, 

Forbid  that  they  should  slip  to  fall. 
Thy  hold  alone  keeps  man  upright, 
And  shields  him  from  the  Tempter's  might. 


198 


JESUS,  OF  MY  LIFE  THE  LIVING. 


When  Grace  the  soul  to  glory  raises, 
With  all  the  saints  above  the  skies, 

More  nobly,  Lord,  shall  sound  its  praises 
Than  here  on  earth  the  strain  can  rise. 

For  there  made  perfect  I  shall  shine, 

For  ever  blest,  for  ever  thine. 


XXVIII. 

"JESU,  MEINES  LEBEjSTS  LEBEN." 

BY  ERNST  CHRISTOPH  HOMBURG,  1659. 

Jesus,  of  my  life  the  living, 
Of  my  dying  is  the  death ; 

For  my  sake  his  own  self  giving, 
Yielding  up  in  pangs  his  breath ; 

In  the  deepest  shadows  lying, 

That  my  soul  may  know  no  dying. 

Thanks  and  praises  numberless, 

Dear  Redeemer,  be  for  this. 


JESUS,  OF  MY  LIFE  THE  LIVING.  199 

Thou  wert  scorned,  rejected,  hated, 

And  acquainted  well  with  woe ; 
For  thy  brows  the  thorns  were  platted ;  — 

Why  consent  to  have  it  so  ? 
That  I  might  thy  joy  be  sharing, 
And  a  crown  immortal  wearing. 
Thanks  and  praises  numberless, 
Dear  Redeemer,  be  for  this. 

Thou  wert  willing  to  be  wounded, 
That  my  stripes  might  healed  be ; 

Wert  with  threats  and  bonds  surrounded, 
That  I  might  go  safe  and  free ; 

That  my  trust  might  ne'er  be  shaken, 

Thou  didst  please  to  hang  forsaken. 

Thanks  and  praises  numberless, 

Dear  Redeemer,  be  for  this. 


200 


WHY  ART  THOU  VEXED,  MY  HEART? 


XXIX. 

"  WARUM  BETRUBST  DU  DICH,  MEIN  HERZ  ? " 

[By  Hans  Sachs,  the  famous  shoemaker  poet,  about  the  middle 
of  the  sixteenth  century.] 

Why  dost  thou  vex  thyself,  my  heart  ? 
Why  discontented  with  thy  part 

Of  this  world's  transient  good  ? 
Thy  trust  be  in  thy  God  alone ; 
For  earth  and  heaven  are  all  his  own. 

He  will  not  take  his  presence  back ; 
He  knows  full  well  what  thou  dost  lack, 

And  where  thy  burdens  press : 
Thy  Father  and  thy  God,  he  still 
Stands  by  thee  in  extremest  ill. 

The  foolish  boast  their  golden  dust ; 
In  God  I  meekly  put  my  trust, 
With  slender  means  content : 
There  rests  with  me  the  joyous  thought, — 
Who  bide  in  him  can  lack  in  nought. 


WHY  AET  THOU  VEXED,  MY  HEART?  201 

O  God!  thou  art  as  rich  to-day 
As  thou  hast  shown  thyself  alway ; 

That  is  my  staff  and  stay. 
Give  me  but  wealth  within  the  breast, 
And  scatter  as  thou  wilt  the  rest. 

From  what  must  waste  I  well  can  part : 
With  the  Everlasting  in  my  heart, 

The  world's  vain  lusts  flit  by ; 
They  offer  but  a  short  success, 
And  lead  no  step  to  blessedness. 

O  Lord,  my  God !  all  praise  to  thee, 

That,  through  thy  Son,  thou  call'st  e'en  me, 

Thy  saving  health  to  share. 
My  spirit  fast  to  thee  engage, 
And  make  thyself  my  heritage ! 


202 


FROM  GOD  I  WILL  NOT  SEVER. 


XXX. 

"VON  GOTT  WILL  ICH  NICHT  LASSEN." 

[Written  by  Ludwig  Hembold,  during  the  Plague  at  Erfurt, 
in  1563.] 

From  God  I  will  not  sever, 

Since  he  doth  ne'er  forsake ; 
But  keep  the  faith  for  ever 

That  sacred  promise  spake. 

He  reaches  me  his  hand; 
He  grants  his  aid  and  warning 
At  night  as  in  the  morning,  — 

This  well  I  understand. 

When  human  love  and  favor 

Grow  cold,  or  turn  aside, 
His  kindness  will  not  waver, 

While  we  in  him  confide. 


FROM  GOD  I  WILL  NOT  SEVER. 


203 


He  helps  in  all  our  straits, 
Redeems  from  prison-places, 
Sets  free  from  all  disgraces, 

And  snatches  from  death-gates. 

To  him  will  I  commit  me, 

When  I  am  sorely  pressed ; 
E'en  then  he  will  permit  me 

A  refuge  and  a  rest. 

Confided  to  him  still 
Be  body,  soul,  and  living, 
And  life  that  is  his  giving ; 

Do  with  them  what  he  will ! 

Praise  Him  with  souls  and  voices 

Who  filleth  to  the  brim  : 
How  every  hour  rejoices 

That  gives  its  heart  to  him ! 

So  use  we  well  the  time : 
Then  shall  our  joy  be  telling, 
Here  in  this  earthly  dwelling, 

And  more  in  the  upper  clime. 


DEAR  REDEEMER,  WE  ARE  HERE. 


XXXI. 

"LIEBSTER  JESU,  TTIR  SIND  HIER." 

TOBIAS  CLAUSNITZER,  1671. 

Dear  Redeemer,  we  are  here 
On  thy  word  and  thee  attending. 

Grant  me  thoughts  intent  and  clear, 
To  thy  heavenly  precepts  bending ; 
And,  from  all  uncleanness  sifted, 
Let  our  hearts  to  thee  be  lifted. 

All  we  think,  and  all  we  know, 
Is  with  doubt  and  cloud  surrounded, 

If  thy  Spirit  do  not  show 
Light  revealed  and  mercy  sounded. 
Thoughts  that  to  all  good  would  win  us 
Thou  thyself  must  prompt  within  us. 


I  CRY  TO  THEE,  0  CHRIST  OUR  LORD ! 


205 


Ray  of  Wisdom  glorified, 
Light  from  God's  own  light  appearing. 

Make  us  prompt  on  every  side ; 
Open  heart  and  mouth  and  hearing, 
Praying,  singing,  and  confessing,  — 
Let  them  all  draw  down  a  blessing. 


XXXII. 

"ICH  EUF'  ZU  DICH,  HERE,  JESU  CHRIST." 

I  CRY  to  thee,  O  Christ  our  Lord ! 

Oh,  hear  my  supplication ! 
And  graciously  this  day  accord 

The  sight  of  thy  salvation. 
The  upright  faith  I  keep  in  mind, 

So  that  always  striving, 
In  thee  living, 

I  may  to  all  be  kind ; 
The  gift  is  of  thy  giving. 


206        I  CRY  TO  THEE,  0  CHRIST  OUR  LORD ! 

And  let  me  not  in  my  sure  trust, 

O  Lord !  be  disappointed : 
Nor  be  the  scoff  of  men  unjust, 

Who  heed  not  thine  Anointed. 
And,  when  I  die,  on  thee  alone 

May  I  be  strongly  founded, 
And  not  grounded 

On  merits  of  my  own : 
My  sentence  then  were  sounded. 

And  make  me  from  my  inmost  heart 

To  enemies  forgiving, 
Forgive  me  on  my  own  poor  part, 

And  grant  a  holier  living. 
Thy  word  shall  be  my  heavenly  food 

To  feed  the  soul's  want  fully, 
Teaching  truly 

How  I  with  heart  renewed 
May  praise  and  worship  duly. 


I  CRY  TO  THEE,  0  CHRIST  OUR  LORD !  207 


May  neither  fear  nor  fond  desire 

My  soul  from  thee  dissever ; 
But  still  a  constant  mind  inspire 

In  grief  and  gladness  ever. 
From  thy  free  grace  the  blessing  flows, 

Which  none  can  reach  by  merit, 
Or  inherit ; 

A  true  and  sweet  repose, 
When  we  give  back  our  spirit. 

I  lie  yet  struggling  in  the  strife ; 

Set  help,  Lord  Christ,  before  me ! 
Within  thy  grace  alone  is  life ; 

To  strength  let  that  restore  me. 
Grant  in  the  evil  hour  to  me, 

When  flesh  and  heart  are  failing, 
Might  unquailing ; 

And  that  at  last  through  thee 
I  may  be  all-prevailing. 


208    WHAT  LAW  HADST  THOU,  0  SAVIOUR  !  BROKEN  ? 


XXXIII. 

"HERZLIEBSTEft  JESU,  WAS  HAST  DU  VER- 
BROCHEN?" 

JOHANN  HEERMANN,  1630. 

O  dearest  Saviour !  what  law  hadst  thou  broken, 
That  the  death-sentence  was  against  thee  spoken? 
For  what  wert  thou  so  tortured  and  reviled, 
Thou  undefiled  ? 

In  mockery  robed  and  crowned,  as  a  false  actor, 
Scourged  like  a  slave  and  like  a  malefactor ; 
They  led  thee,  amid  scorn  and  malediction, 
To  crucifixion. 

O  matchless  love !  O  love  beyond  conceiving ! 
That  thou  shouldst  give  thyself  for  our  relieving ! 
What  shall  I  back  to  thee,  Redeemer,  render  ? 

What  offering  tender? 


PRAISE  TO  THEE,  WHO  SENDS  THE  MORNING.  209 


In  thankfulness  thy  goodness  will  I  treasure ; 
Love  thee  supremely,  and  not  worldly  pleasure ; 
Do  thy  will  only ;  all  wrong  feelings  quelling, 
Wrong  thoughts  repelling. 

Thou  wilt  not  disregard  thy  servant  wholly, 
But  view  with  gracious  eye  his  service  lowly : 
Thy  Spirit  strengthen  daily  thy  poor  debtor, 
To  serve  thee  better. 


XXXIV. 
At  Morning. 
"LOB  SEY  DIE,  DER  DEN  MORGEN." 
[Melody  first  written  for  "  Valet  will  ich  dir  geben."] 

Praise  to  thee,  who  the  morning 
Didst  send  us,  after  night; 

We  slept,  all  cares  adjourning, 
For  thou  hadst  oversight. 
14 


PRAISE  TO  THEE,  WHO  SENDS  THE  MORNING. 


Thou,  who  abroad  dost  number 
The  dewdrops  and  the  rays, 

Hast  quickened  in  my  slumber 
The  power  to  work  and  praise. 

Thou,  Lord,  to  me  hast  given 

Whate'er  I  am  or  have ; 
But  fast  this  life  is  driven, 

And  hastens  to  the  grave. 
Soon  vanishes,  and  wholly, 

The  way  each  pilgrim  tends ; 
Yet  on  it  hangs,  how  truly  ! 

The  time  that  never  ends. 

Oh,  high  and  dear  believing ! 

I  shall  at  length  arise, 
Though  earth  to  earth  lie  cleaving, 

The  spirit  finds  the  skies. 
This  let  me  daily  ponder 

In  hope's  grand  mystery,  — 
What,  in  the  bright  world  yonder, 

I  may  attain  to  be. 


PRAISE  TO  THEE,  WHO  SENDS  THE  MORNING. 


Who  stoops  and  strains  for  treasure 

It  will  but  cheat  the  heart. 
Who  pants  for  selfish  pleasure,  — 

Its  pay,  remorse  and  smart  ? 
Below  here,  in  the  earthy, 

My  spirit  shall  be  clean ; 
A  shrine  not  all  unworthy 

Of  pure  eyes  to  be  seen. 

Be  brave,  my  heart!  and  weary 

Grow  never  in  the  strife : 
The  peace  of  God  will  cheer  ye 

With  trust  and  strength  and  life. 
Be  vigorous,  not  complaining; 

And  every  effort  bend : 
This  very  day,  at  waning, 

May  see  the  conflict  end. 


212  NOW  RAISE  TO  GOD  THANKSGIVING. 


XXXV. 

"NUN  DANKET  ALLE  GOTT." 

[By  Martin  Rinkart.  It  was  composed  shortly  before  the  close 
of  the  Thirty  Years'  War,  1648 ;  and  has  been  popularly  called  the 
German  Te  Deum.] 

All  hearts  and  tongues  and  hands 
Now  raise  to  God  thanksgiving, 
Who  wondrous  things  hath  wrought 
For  us  and  all  the  living ; 
Who,  from  our  mother's  breast 
And  infant  nature  down, 
E'en  to  this  very  hour, 
Has  countless  mercies  shown. 

The  ever-blessing  God 
Bestow  on  all  our  being 
A  noble  peace,  glad  heart, 
And  will  with  his  agreeing ; 


STAND  BY  ME  IN  THIS  NEED  OF  MINE.  213 


And  hold  us  in  his  grace, 
As  on  and  on  we  fare ; 
And  fend  us  from  all  harm, 
All  times,  and  everywhere! 


XXXVI. 

"O  JESU,  MEINE  ZUVERSICHT." 
Melody,  —  "  Durch  Adam's  Fall  ist  ganz  verderbt." 
From  the  fifth  verse. 

Stand  by  me  in  this  need  of  mine, 

A  gracious  pity  taking : 
Lord,  free  me  while  in  bonds  I  pine, 

And  heal  me  where  I'm  aching. 
Give  me  thy  light  that  I  may  see 

Myself  with  wakened  senses ; 
And  let  thy  truth  a  mirror  be, 

To  show  me  my  offences. 


214 


STAND  BY  ME  IN  THIS  NEED  OF  MINE. 


Make  softer  thou  my  stubborn  heart, 

That  it  may  yield  before  thee ; 
And,  pierced  with  a  repentant  smart, 

Acceptably  implore  thee. 
Ah !  make  it,  through  believing,  clean, 

For  good  works  ready  ever ; 
Yea,  be  thyself  a  guest  within, 

O  strength  of  my  endeavor! 

Break  off  from  me  all  evil  bands ; 

Break  off  all  evil  willing ; 
And  what  thy  holy  word  commands 

Thy  Spirit  be  fulfilling. 
In  me,  let  meekness,  temperance,  — 

Those  Spirit-fruits,  —  be  growing; 
Set  right  thoughts  marching  in  advance ; 

Set  holy  fervors  glowing. 

'Tis  thine  in  us  to  will  and  do, 

O  Father !  as  thou  carest ; 
Vouchsafe  the  strength  to  carry  through 

The  work  thou  first  preparest. 


MAY  GOD  REVEAL  TO  US  HIS  GRACE.  215 

Let  thy  sweet  peace  upon  me  light ; 

Spread  hopes  before,  behind  me ; 
So  shall  I  strive  as  in  thy  sight, 

Fulfilling  what's  assigned  me. 


XXXVII. 

"ES  WOLLE  GOTT  UNS  GNADIG  SEYK" 

May  God  reveal  to  us  his  grace, 

And  pour  his  benediction ; 
And  fly  before  his  glorious  face 

All  glooms  of  earth's  affliction! 
That  we  may  view  his  works  aright, 

And  scan  his  wondrous  dealing; 
And  Jesus  Christ's  propitious  might 

Show  all  the  world  its  healing, 

And  turn  them  to  the  Father. 


MAY  GOD  REVEAL  TO  US  HIS  GRACE. 

So  thanks  to  thee,  and  praise  to  thee, 
Lord  God,  from  every  nation! 

The  song  of  joy  and  jubilee 
From  all  the  wide  creation  ! 

For  thou  on  earth  art  Judge  and  King, 
And  wrong  shall  not  be  master ; 

Thy  strong  decrees  protection  bring, 
And  bind  all  kindreds  faster 
To  keep  thy  just  commandments. 

Let  not  thy  people's  praises  cease ; 

Good  works  their  reverence  showing 
Their  land  bring  forth  its  full  increase, 

Thy  word  more  prosperous  growing. 
Oh,  bless  by  every  holiest  name, 

The  Father,  Son,  and  Spirit ! 
And  come  that  kingdom  with  acclaim, 

Which  all  true  souls  inherit ! 

Now  from  your  hearts  say,  Amen. 


0  GOD,  THOU  FAITHFUL  GOD ! 


217 


xxxrm. 

"O  GOTT,  DU  FROMMER  GOTT!" 

[From  a  hymn  by  Johann  Heermann,  1630.  It  was  sung  by 
the  Prussian  army,  on  the  morning  of  the  battle  of  Leuthen,  Si- 
lesia, 15th  of  December,  1757,  when  it  gained  a  victory  over  the 
Austrians,  who  were  three  times  its  number.  King  Frederick  is 
said  to  have  exclaimed,  "  What  an  energy  there  is  in  religion ! " 
The  words  of  the  piece  have  no  special  appropriateness  to  such  an 
occasion.] 

O  God,  thou  faithful  God ! 

Thou  well-spring  of  all  blessing  ! 
In  whom  we  all  exist, 

From  whom  we're  all  possessing! 
Give  me  a  body  sound ; 

And  in  it,  builded  well, 
Let  an  unblemished  soul 

And  a  good  conscience  dwell. 


218  0  GOD,  THOU  FAITHFUL  GOD  ! 

Afford  me  will  and  strength 

To  do  the  work  assigned  me ; 
Whereto,  in  my  true  place, 

Thy  law  may  call  and  find  me. 
Let  it  be  timely  done, 

With  eager  readiness ; 
And  what  is  done  in  thee 

Have  ever  good  success. 

Help  me  to  speak  but  that 

Which  I  can  stand  maintaining, 
And  banish  from  my  lips 

The  word  that's  coarse  and  staining  ; 
And  when  the  duty  comes 

To  speak  with  earnest  stress, 
Then  grant  the  needed  force 

Unmixed  with  bitterness. 

When  trouble  shall  break  in, 
Let  me  not  turn  despairer ; 

But  give  a  steadfast  heart, 
And  make  me  a  cross-bearer. 


I  TRUST  MY  BLESSED  GOD. 


219 


When  help  and  comfort  fail, 
Send  to  my  side  the  Friend, 

Who,  closer  than  a  brother, 
Shall  watch  the  sorrow's  end. 


XXXIX. 

"  AUF  MEIXEN  LIEBEN  GOTT." 
[Ascribed  to  Sigismund  WeingXrtner,  1609.] 

I  trust  my  blessed  God, 
When  scourged  by  sorrow's  rod : 
He  can  send  strong  salvation 
In  press  and  tribulation. 
Bad  fortune  can  be  profit, 
For  he  has  ruling  of  it. 

When  sin  against  me  rights, 
Not  that  my  soul  affrights ; 


220 


I  TRUST  MY  BLESSED  GOD. 


On  Christ  alone  I'll  stay  me, 
And  at  his  mercy  lay  me ; 
In  him  is  life  prevailing, 
That  will  not  leave  me  failing. 

By  death  if  I  be  ta'en, 
The  dying  shall  be  gain ; 
There  still  shall  be  protection 
In  Christ  the  Resurrection  ; 
Though  'twere  to-day,  to-morrow, 
Why  make  God's  care  my  sorrow  ? 

My  Lord  Christ  Jesus,  thou 
Out  of  thy  love  didst  bow 
To  thy  most  cruel  passion, 
For  us  and  our  salvation. 
Thine  agony's  brief  measures 
Secure  us  endless  pleasures. 


NOW  TOWARDS  US  BEND,  LORD  JESUS.  221 


XL. 

HERR  JESU  CHRIST,  DICH  ZU  UNS  WEND.1' 

(WILLIAM  H.  OF  SAXE  WEIMAR,  FIRST  PRINTED  LN  1638.) 

Lord  Jesus  Christ,  now  towards  us  bend ; 
Thy  Holy  Spirit  on  us  send ; 
"With  help  and  grace  our  spirits  sway, 
And  lead  us  in  thine  own  right  way. 

Unclose  the  lips  for  praises  due ; 
Prepare  the  heart  for  worship  true ; 
The  faith  increase  ;  the  mind  make  bright ; 
That  we  may  read  thy  name  aright ; 

Till  we're  singing  with  angel  chord : 
"  Holy,  holy  is  God  the  Lord ; " 
And  see  thee,  through  the  blest  employ, 
In  holy  light  and  endless  joy. 


222 


WAKE  UP,  WS  HEART. 


XLL 

"WACH  AUF,  MEENT  HERZ,  UND  SINGE." 

PAUL  GERHARDT,  1649. 

Wake  up,  my  heart,  elater 
To  sing  the  All- Creator! 
Who  every  blessing  giveth ; 
In  whom  all  safety  liveth. 

He  only,  when  I  quiver, 
Can  graciously  deliver; 
And  keep  me  when  the  palling 
Of  night's  vast  shade  is  falling. 

Thou  will'st  an  offering  worthy ; 
How  can  I  come  before  thee  ? 
I  can  but  bow  me  lowly, 
With  thanks  and  homage  holy. 


WAKE  UP,  MY  HEART. 


223 


Thou  who  the  heart  discernest, 
Its  least  gift  never  spurnest. 
Thou  know'st  that  my  poor  coffer 
Has  nothing  else  to  offer. 

Say  yes  to  my  endeavor, 
And  let  it  find  thy  favor ; 
O  Lord !  turn  to  my  winning 
The  end  from  the  beginning. 

Accept  the  vows  I'm  telling, 
And  make  my  soul  thy  dwelling ; 
Thy  word  my  food  bestowing, 
While  heavenward  I  am  going. 


224       PRAISE  THE  ALMIGHTY  KING  OF  GLORY. 


XLII. 

"LOBE  DEN  HERRN,  DEN  MACHTIGEN  KONIG 
DER  EHREN." 

[Joachim  Neander,  1679.  A  very  popular  hymn,  and  a  special 
favorite  of  Friedrich  Wilhelm  III.  of  Prussia.] 

Praise  the  Almighty,  —  The  King  of  a  glory 
unbounded ! 

Praise,  O  my  spirit,  with  choirs  of  angels  sur- 
rounded ! 

Join  the  full  throng ; 
Wake,  harp  and  psalter  and  song ; 
High  be  the  thanksgiving  sounded ! 

Praise  the  Almighty,  o'er  all  things  who  regally 
reigneth !  — 

Who,  as  on  wings  of  an  eagle,  uplifteth,  sus- 
taineth, — 


PRAISE  THE  ALMIGHTY  KING  OF  GLORY.  225 


Who  giveth  food, 
All  gladness  and  safety  and  good  :: 
Thanks  for  what  was,  —  what  remain- 
eth. 

Praise  the  Almighty,  who  skilfully  for  thee  pro- 
vided ; 

Who  lent  thee  thy  health  and  strength,  and  then, 
graciously  guided ! 

What  need  or  grief 
For  them  hath  failed  of  relief 
Who  under  his  feathers  abided  ? 

Praise  the  Almighty !  thy  lowly  state  visibly  tend- 
ing, 

Down  from  the  heavens  his  streams  of  benevo- 
lence sending ; 

Think  of  it,  man ! 
Think  what  Omnipotence  can, 
Its  love  all  around  thee  bending. 
15 


226     WHEN  ALL  OUR  WAY  IS  HEDGED  AROUND. 


Praise  the  Almighty!  that  living  name,  praise 

with  emotion ; 
All  things  that  have  breath,  that  holy  name  praise 
in  devotion ! 

He  is  thy  light ; 
Soul,  keep  it  ever  in  sight: 
Praise  him  for  evermore.  Amen. 


XLIII. 

"WENN  WIR  IN  HOCHSTEN  NOTHEN  SELN." 

PAUL  EBER. 

[Printed  in  1547,  after  the  overthrow  of  the  Protestants  at 
Miihlberg,  and  the  advance  of  Charles  V.  upon  Wittemberg ;  where, 
of  all  the  professors,  only  Eber,  with  Bugenhagen  and  Creutziger, 
remained  behind  in  the  city,  putting  their  trust  in  God.  The  mel- 
ody is  of  French-Calvinistic  origin.] 

When  all  our  way  is  hedged  around, 
And  out  or  in  no  path  is  found ; 
Of  help  or  counsel  there  is  nought, 
Though  late  and  early  it  be  sought, — 


WHEN  ALL  OUR  WAY  IS  HEDGED  AROUND.  227 


Then  this  must  be  our  trust  alone, 
That  we,  together  and  as  one, 
May  cry,  O  faithful  Lord!  to  thee 
For  rescue  from  our  misery, 

And  lift  to  Heaven  our  heart  and  eye 
With  true  contrition's  sorest  sigh. 
To  all  our  sins  be  pity  sent, 
And  soften  all  their  chastisement ! 

Look  not  upon  them,  though  so  great ; 
Absolve  us  from  their  guilt  and  fate ; 
Stand  by  us  in  the  pains  we  bear ; 
Strike  off  the  yokes  and  chains  we  wear. 

Lo !  for  the  grace  of  each  free  gift, 
Shall  grateful  hearts  their  praise  uplift ; 
And,  subjects  to  thy  saving  word, 
Here  and  hereafter  bless  the  Lord. 


UP,  UP,  MY  HEART. 


XLIY. 

"AUF,  AUF,  MEIN  HERZ,  MIT  FREUDE." 

Up,  up,  my  heart,  with  gladness 
Receive  this  wondrous  sight ! 

God  bids  the  gloom  and  sadness 
Break  up  in  glorious  light. 
My  Saviour's  bed  was  made 
Where  I,  too,  shall  be  laid, 
When  once  the  spirit  freed 
Shakes  off  all  earthly  need. 

The  tomb  is  closed  around  him, 
'Mid  shouts  of  wild  disdain; 

But  scarce  his  foes  have  bound  him, 
When  Christ  walks  free  again. 


UP,  UP,  MY  HEART. 


229 


Forth  comes  he  from  the  dead, 
With  victor-banner  spread ; 
And  they  who  saw  him  die 
Now  "  Hallelujah !  "  cry. 

If  hell  its  whole  crew  rallies 
To  rave  and  threat  and  stare, 

I  mock  at  all  their  malice,  — 
They  cannot  crisp  a  hair. 
The  might  of  death  meanwhile 
I  meet  as  with  a  smile ; 
And  all  that  makes  afraid 
Is  but  a  shape  of  shade. 

Now  let  the  rough  world  hate  me, 
And  threat  to  work  me  woe, 

And  strip  and  desolate  me ; 
Then  taunting,  leave  me  so. 
Now  troubles  trouble  nought, 
In  look  or  heart  or  thought ; 
Misfortunes  fortune  seem, 
And  night  is  noontide  beam. 


230 


UP,  UP,  MY  HEART. 


My  being  he  embraces, 
As  body  nurtures  limb ; 

And,  through  whatever  places, 
He  bears  me  still  with  him. 
Now  no  world's  want  is  found, 
And  sin  and  death  lie  bound : 
Secure  in  his  defence, 
I  drive  all  terrors  hence. 


He  brings  me  to  the  portal 
That  opens  into  bliss ; 

Where,  graved  in  words  immortal, 
This  golden  Scripture  is  : 
The  scorned  for  my  sake  there 
My  glory  here  shall  share ; 
They  wear  my  crown  and  wreath 
Who  went  with  me  to  death. 


CHRIST,  THE  SAVIOUR,  PRAISE.  231 


XLV. 

"JESUS  CHRISTUS,  UNSER  HEILAND." 

Christ,  the  Saviour,  our  Prince  all-hailed, 

Who  gloriously  prevailed, 
Is  now  uprisen, 
Delivered  from  death's  prison, 

Praise  ye  the  Risen  One! 

He  who  was  free  from  all  sin-stain 
Bore  for  us  blows  and  pain : 
That  mediation 

Brought  us  God's  exaltation. 
Praise  ye  the  Risen  One  I 

Jesus  reigns  through  Him  of  all  might,. 

Awaked  from  grave  and  night ; 
He's  life  unending 
To  all  on  him  attending. 

Praise  to  the  Risen  One ! 


232        THOU,  o  fair  creation-building! 


XLVI. 

"DU,  O  SCHONES  WELT  GEBAUDE." 
Melody,  —  "  Alle  Menschen  miissen  sterben.1' 

JOH.  FRANK. 

Thou,  O  fair  Creation-building! 

Let  them  joy  in  thee  who  may ; 
All  thy  light-spun  show  and  gilding 

Cloud  with  grief  their  best  display. 
Leave  to  him,  the  heaven-despiser, 
Bliss  that  makes  the  soul  no  wiser : 
My  great  wish  is  but  to  be, 
Jesu,  saving-health,  with  thee. 

Weary  ones,  with  serving  cumbered, 
Faint  with  burdens  and  the  sun, 

Wish  the  hours  more  swiftly  numbered, 
And  the  day  to  darkness  run ; 


THOU,  0  FAIR  CREATION-BUILDING  !  233 


That,  when  many  toils  had  pressed  them, 
They  might  sweetly,  softly  rest  them  : 
My  great  wish  is  but  to  be, 
Jesu,  my  repose,  with  thee. 

Others  may,  through  breakers  roaring, 
And  'mid  cliffs  and  tempests,  ride ; 

And,  for  traffic  and  for  storing, 
Want  and  danger  boldly  bide : 

Wings  of  faith  shall  bear  me  fearless 

To  the  heavens,  calm  and  tearless. 

Jesu,  thou  alone  shalt  be 

End  of  pilgrimage  to  me. 

Come,  O  Death !  of  sleep  the  brother, 
Leave  my  rudder  to  the  sand; 

From  one  slumber  to  another ; 
Final  port  and  better  land. 

Whom  thou  wilt,  thou  art  free  to  frighten, 

Me  thou  shalt  but  ease  and  lighten  ; 

For  it  is  alone  through  thee 

I  can  with  my  Saviour  be. 


234 


IN  JOY  AND  PEACE  I  ONWARD  FARE. 


XLVII. 

Simeon's  Lobgesang. 
"MIT  FRIED  UND  FREUD  FAHR  ICH  DAHIN." 

MARTIN  LUTHER,  1524. 

In  joy  and  peace  I  onward  fare 

With  God  so  willing; 
Both  heart  and  sense  the  blessing  share, 

Soft  distilling ; 
For  so  God  hath  promised  me  : 
The  grave  is  turned  to  sleeping. 

And  this  hath  Christ  the  Saviour  wrought, 

Son  of  the  Highest; 
Whom  to  my  eyes  thou,  Lord,  hast  brought 

Drawing  nighest, 
That  he  the  life  and  health  may  be 
In  suffering  and  in  dying. 


IN  JOY  AND  PEACE  I  ONWARD  FARE.  235 


Him  hast  thou  over  all  things  set 

In  loving-kindness ; 
His  kingdom  makes  the  world  forget 

All  its  blindness, 
Through  thy  dear  and  wholesome  word, 
Which  everywhere  hath  sounded. 

Salvation  he,  and  blessed  ray 

For  heathen  races, 
To  show  to  those  who  lack  and  stray 

Feeding-places. 
He  of  thy  folk  Israel 
Is  glory,  joy,  and  blessing. 


236 


THE  SUCCOR  OF  CHRIST. 


XL  VIII. 

"CHRISTEN  ERWARTEN  IN  ALLERLEI  FALLEN.' 

christian  ludwig  edelixg  (Lehrer  des  Gr.  Zinzendorf), 
1714. 

Christians  may  find  in  each  scene  of  commotion 

The  succor  of  Christ's  all-encompassing  hand; 
'Mid  the  rush  of  the  winds,  and  the  dash  of  the 
ocean, 

Their  station  is  high  on  the  firm-seated  land ; 
And  when  the  deep  shadows  of  sorrow  benighl 
them, 

That  sadness  and  blackness  shall  little  affright  them 

Right  hand  and  left  be  the  enemy  trooping, 

Round  us  the  flash  and  the  stroke  of  their  sword, 

Why  should  the  head  of  the  Christian  be  drooping, 
Bright  at  his  heart  with  the  form  of  his  Lord  ? 

Shouting  and  tumult  their  cry  may  be  raising, 

We  the  All-righteous  are  evermore  praising. 


THE  SUCCOR  OF  CHRIST. 


237 


Stripped  of  thy  seed-corn,  O  earth,  when  thou 
starvest ! 

Garden,  field,  orchard,  bereft  of  their  fruits ; 
Hail  beating  down  the  full  ears  of  the  harvest ; 

Trees  on  the  hillsides  all  scorched  at  the  roots, — 
Still  be  thou,  man,  patient  truster  and  waiter ; 
Yield  the  rule  of  the  world  to  its  righteous  Creator. 

Many  consume,  with  their  anxious  distresses, 
Vigor  and  health  and  the  span  of  their  date; 

While  the  Most  High,  in  his  council's  recesses, 
"Wraps  up  the  When  and  the  Where  of  their  fate. 

Is  it  not  all  but  a  profitless  sorrow, 

Feeble  of  heart,  that  you  hasten  to  borrow  ? 

Doubting  and  caring  disfigure  the  pious; 

Hoping,  confiding,  are  honored  on  high: 
Soul,  have  the  peace  that  our  cares  would  deny  us ; 

Cheer!  and  the  hellish  foe  scorn  and  defy. 
Though  help  from  above  may  seem  ready  to  vanish, 
Trust  in  the  Lord,  and  complaining  thoughts  banish. 


238 


ONWARD  GO,  ONWARD  GO. 


Good  most  besought,  and  a  manifold  blessing, 
Follow  thee  on  till  thy  rest  in  the  ground ; 

Thence,  and  far  on,  hope  immortal  possessing, 
How  should  a  place  for  misgiving  be  found  ? 

Stillness  and  peace  be  thy  patient  endeavor:  — 
So  speaks  the  will  of  the  Blessed  Forever. 


XLIX. 

"FAHRE  FORT,  FAHRE  FORT." 

JOH.  EUSEBIUS  SCHMIDT,  1704. 

Onward  go,  onward  go, — 
Zion,  onward  go  in  light ; 
On,  with  lustre  never  paling ; 

Keep  thy  first  love  true  and  bright. 
Seek  the  fountains  never  failing ; 
Zion,  through  the  narrow  gateway,  ho ! 
Onward  go,  onward  go. 


ONWARD  GO,  ONWARD  GO. 


239 


Patient  bear,  patient  bear,  — 
Zion,  patient  bear  —  nor  shrink  — 
Sorrow,  pain,  and  hate,  and  scorning; 

Faithful  down  to  death's  dark  brink, 
Look  for  joy  to  crown  the  morning; 
Zion,  though  the  serpent's  fang  should  tear, 
Patient  bear,  patient  bear. 

Follow  not,  follow  not, — 
Zion,  follow  not  the  call, 
Setting  selfish  aims  in  motion, 

Rank  and  gold  and  pleasures  all. 
Earnest  watch  and  deep  devotion, 
Zion,  save  thee  from  the  tempted  lot: 
Follow  not,  follow  not. 

Try  aright,  try  aright,  — 
Zion,  try  the  spirits  each, 
Calling  on  the  different-sided  ; 
Heed  not  what  they  bid  or  teach ; 


240 


ONWARD  GO,  ONWARD  GO. 


By  thy  star  alone  be  guided ! 
Zion,  both  —  the  black  one  and  the  white 
Try  aright,  try  aright. 

Inward  press,  inward  press,  — 
Zion,  inward  press  to  God  ; 
Strengthen  thee  to  spirit-uses, 
Nor,  like  others,  rest  a  clod. 
Be  like  generous  vintage-juices: 
Zion,  for  strong  truth,  not  show  and  dress 
Inward  press,  inward  press. 

Still  hold  out,  still  hold  out,  — 
Zion,  hold  out  faithfully ; 
No  one  lukewarm,  sluggish,  find  thee! 

Up!  the  promised  prize  to  see. 
Up!  and  leave  what  lies  behind  thee  : 
Zion,  when  Death's  terrors  close  about, 
Still  hold  out,  still  hold  out. 


AGAINST  THEE,  ONLY,  MY  TRANSGRESSION.  241 


L. 

"AN  DIR  ALLELE,  AN  DIR  HAB'  ICH 
GESUNDIGT." 

From  the  Berliner  Gesangbucli. 

Against  thee,  Lord,  thee  only,  my  transgression ; 

The  evil  that  I  think  and  do. 
Thou  seest  the  sins  that  scare  confession ; 

Lord,  look  upon  their  sorrow  too. 

My  prayer,  ray  sigh,  are  not  before  thee  hidden ; 

Thou  numberest  all  the  tears  I  shed. 
O  God,  my  God!  how  long  shall  I  lie  chidden, — 

Thy  face  be  clouded,  overhead? 

Lord,  be  not  strict  to  number  my  offences, 

Nor  every  sin  to  judgment  bring; 
Let  pardoning  looks  shine  upon  troubled  senses, 

Thou  God  of  all  long-suffering. 

16 


242     AGAINST  THEE,  ONLY,  MY  TRANSGRESSION. 

Thou  wouldst  console  me  with  thy  grace  right 
early, 

Who  hast  for  ever  mercy  had : 
Grant  me  the  peace  of  those  thou  choosest  nearly, 
Loving  to  make  the  mournful  glad. 

Lead  me  thy  ways  with  joy  and  heed  to  measure, 

And  train  me  in  thy  statutes  high ; 
Subdue  me  to  perform  thy  whole  good  pleasure, — 

The  Sovereign,  thou;  the  servant,  I. 

Lord,  haste  to  my  defence,  from  danger  leading, 
And  show  me  the  true  path  and  goal. 

He  hears  my  moan,  he  listens  to  my  pleading, 
He  brings  acceptance  to  my  soul. 


GOD  IS  MY  SONG. 


243 


LI. 

"GOTT  1ST  MEIN  LIED." 

CHRISTIAN   FURCHTEGOTT  GELLERT. 

From  his  "  Oeistlichen  Oden  und  Liedem,"  1757. 

God  is  my  song, 
With  sovereign  power  tremendous ; 
Great  is  his  name,  his  works  are  all  stupendous, 
And  all  the  heavens  to  him  belong. 

He  wills  and  speaks : 
So  stands  and  moves  Creation ; 
At  his  rebuke,  from  its  high  habitation 
The  proudest  world  to  nothing  breaks. 

Unending  sway, 
A  sea  of  blessednesses 
That  no  beginning  saw,  and  never  ceases! 
O  Lord!  what  thee  resemble  may  ? 


244  GOD  IS  MY  SONG. 

All  things  that  are 
In  heaven  or  earth  or  waters 
Are  known  of  him.    Existence  and  her  daughters 
Are  seen,  as  present,  from  afar. 

To  thee  he's  nigh, 
Whether  thou  risest  up  or  sittest ; 
If  o'er  the  seas  or  up  to  heaven  thou  flittest, 
His  viewless  spirit  is  close  by. 

He  knows  my  prayer, 
And  my  deep  need  of  blessing ; 
And,  whether  I  am  faithful  or  transgressing, 
He  hastens  to  be  gracious  there. 

No  thought  of  mine 
But  with  thee  holds  connection : 
Lord,  evermore  shall'each  heartfelt  reflection 
Speak  out,  and  sing  some  praise  of  thine. 


GOD  IS  MY  SONG. 


245 


The  fruitful  land, 
Green  pastures  where  thou  leadest, 
Day,  night,  and  joy,  the  corn  and  wine  thou 
spreadest, 
Are  gifts  we  borrow  from  thy  hand. 

No  sparrow  falls 
Without  divine  disposing : 
Should  not  in  this  my  spirit  find  reposing, — 
Thy  hand  directs,  thy  pleasure  calls  ? 

God  on  my  side, 
With  him  for  my  defender, 
Nor  earth  nor  sky  I  ask  their  help  to  render : 
The  powers  of  hell  are  all  defied. 


TRANQUILLY  YIELD  THEE. 


LH. 

GIEB  DICH  ZUFRIEDEN  UND  SEY  STILLE. " 

From  the  Berliner  Gesangbuch. 

Tranquilly  yield  thee,  —  peace  possessing 

In  Him  in  whom  thy  being  liveth : 
He  is  the  fulness  of  all  blessing ; 
All  thy  care  else  nothing  giveth. 
He  is  the  source 
Of  bliss  the  purest ; 

The  radiant  force 
Of  sunshine  surest. 
Tranquilly  yield  thee. 

The  God  of  peace  and  consolation 

Loves  and  pities  as  a  father : 
No  ill  can  harm  with  such  relation, 

Though  the  heaviest  tempests  gather. 


TRANQUILLY  YIELD  THEE.  247 


Cross,  woe,  and  want 
Find  God's  protection ; 

And  Death's  grim  front 
Owns  God's  direction. 

Tranquilly  yield  thee. 

Does  promised  help  seem  false  or  erring  ? 

Come  it  will,  or  soon  or  later ; 
Does  heart  grow  sick  with  long  deferring? 
This  but  makes  the  meed  the  greater. 
No  hasty  sprout 
Puts  forth  securely ; 

The  time  and  fruit 
Must  come  maturely. 
Tranquilly  yield  thee. 

There  can  and  must  be  no  exemption ; 

All  that  lives  and  moves  must  suffer : 
The  fairest  lot  has  no  redemption 

From  the  sharper  and  the  rougher. 


248 


TRANQUILLY  YIELD  THEE. 


Where's  house  or  nook 
The  fable  telling,— 

"  Grief  never  shook 
This  quiet  dwelling  "  ? 

Tranquilly  yield  thee. 

But  yet  there  comes  a  day  of  resting ; 

God  will  all  these  steep  ways  level, 
Of  chains  and  pains  the  heart  divesting, 
Freeing  us  from  every  evil. 

Death  soon  will  come 
Whom  Heaven  sendeth; 

In  that  still  doom 
All  trouble  endeth. 

Tranquilly  yield  Thee. 

The  Lord  doth  join  thee  to  those  legions 
Of  the  souls  in  peace  departed 

Who  behold  the  blessed  regions, 
No  more  tossed  or  heavy-hearted. 


GOD  IS  MY  SHEPHERD. 


249 


Who  patient  bear 
The  cross  that's  weighing, 

Soon  come  to  hear 
The  gracious  saying, 

"  Tranquilly  yield  thee." 


LIIL 

"GOTT  1ST  ME  IN  HIRT:  WAS  MANGELT  JEMALS 
MIR?" 

Schaffhauser  und  N.  Basler  Gesangbuch. 

God  is  my  shepherd :.  how  then  can  I  need  ? 

I  follow  with  glad  will. 
On  grassy  banks  he  leads  me  out  to  feed 

Beside  the  waters  still. 
He  cheers  the  soul  with  grace  the  purest ; 
He  guides  the  heart  in  ways  the  surest, 

With  shepherd  care. 


250 


GOD  IS  MY  SHEPHERD. 


When  down  the  darkening  vale  I  move  and  look, 

No  peril  shall  affright, 
For  thou  art  by  my  side ;  thy  shepherd  crook 

Shall  soothe  and  guard  that  night. 
Though  envious  foes  should  scorn  and  spite  me, 
To  feasts  of  joy  thou  dost  invite  me 

At  thy  blest  board. 

With  holy  oil  thou  dost  anoint  my  head; 

My  cup,  it  runneth  o'er. 
Thou  Shepherd,  who  thus  far  dost  fend  and  feed, 

Wilt  still  do  all  and  more. 
While  here,  I  feel  thy  comforts  ever ; 
When  there  above,  no  time  shall  sever 

My  soul  from  thee. 


GOD  SO  GUIDES  US. 


251 


LIV. 

"GOTT  WILL'S  MACHEN  DASS  DIR  SACHEK" 

Eig.  Mel.  or  Binge  recht,  wenn  Goites  Gnade. 

[Joh.  Dan.  Herrnschmidt.    First  printed  in  Freylingh.  Ge- 
sangbuch.] 

God  so  guides  us,       What  betides  us 

He  makes  wholesomest  and  best. 
Waves  still  nigher       May  swell  higher 

If  Christ's  peace  be  in  thy  breast. 

Trust  securely       That  full  surely 

Good  is  evermore  designed  ; 
In  God's  fiat       Rest  thou  quiet ; 

Then,  whate'er  thou  needest,  find. 

Thoughts  are  crossing,       Wavering,  tossing ; 

Sink  thou  into  tranquil  flow ; 
His  care  be  it       To  o'ersee  it, 

Lord  of  each  day's  joy  and  woe. 


252 


GOD  SO  GUIDES  US. 


When  the  hour       Has  reached  its  power, 
Help  breaks  forth  with  ready  might. 

And,  ashaming       Foolish  blaming, 
Shows  at  once  that  all  was  right. 

Yield  thee,  bearing       Load  and  tearing, 
Sweetly  calm,  and  lowly  bent. 

If  refusing       That  strict  using, 
We  but  heap  up  chastisement. 

Thou,  who  fearful       Yet,  and  tearful, 
Dost  embrace  the  Saviour's  yoke, 

To  his  throning       And  his  crowning 
And  his  many  mansions  look. 


GOD  IS  TRUE. 


253 


LV. 

'GOTT  1ST  TREU  UND  ALLE  MORGEN  NEU." 

From  tlie  Berliner  Gesangbuch. 
Melody,  —  "  Auferstehen,  ja  auferstehen." 

God  is  true; 
And  every  morning  new 
His  endless  truth  I  view. 

Be  ever  glowing 
My  thanks  for  all  its  showing, 

Renewed  each  day, 

Like  its  own  ray. 

God  is  true : 
With  promise  unforgot, 
His  own  he  faileth  not. 

In  hours  distressing, 
Firm  to  his  covenant-blessing, 
He  comes,  and  we 
His  promise  see. 


254 


GOD  IS  TRUE. 


God  is  true : 
Whate'er  he  purpose  should, 
It  must  be  wise  and  good. 

His  voice  not  uttered 
In  wrath,  and  threatenings  muttered, 

All  love  I  hear ; 

Then  wherefore  fear  ? 


God  is  true : 
From  him  is  all  our  might ; 
His  charge  keeps  all  in  sight. 

When  faith  scarce  flashes 
Beneath  its  sunken  ashes, 

He  wakes  its  force 

And  wings  its  course. 


God  is  true ; 
O  "Word  of  sweetest  grace 
Be  rock  and  refuge-place ! 


HOW  SWIFT  HAS  FLOWN  THIS  MORTAL  LIFE !  255 

Though  all  prove  vainest, 
My  joy  thou  still  remainest. 

When  time  is  past 
This  Word  stands  fast. 


$ 

LVI. 

"WIE  SCHNELL  YERSTRICH,  O  HERR  VOLL 
MILD    LWD  HULD." 

From  the  Berliner  Gesangbuch.    In  eigener  Melodie. 

How  swift,  O  Lord,  most  kind,  most  bountiful ! 
Has  flown  a  large  part  of  this  mortal  living ! 
Should  I,  of  all  thy  love,  a  full  account  be  giving, 

How  vast  would  stand  my  debt  in  sense  and  soul ! 

O  Father,  God !  how  gracious  to  bestow 
Gifts  fair  and  full  upon  me  undeserving! 
And  did  there  fall  some  grief,  the  soul  unnerving, 

It  was  that  I  should  not  presumptuous  grow. 


256     HOW  SWIFT  HAS  FLOWN  THIS  MORTAL  LIFE ! 

Yea,  to  thy  loving-kindness  thou  hast  stood 
For  ever  faithful;  but  I  oft  have  broken 
The  solemn  word  the  tongue  and  heart  have  spoken. 

Forgive,  for  thou  hast  known  how  it  was  rued ! 

So  much  already  lent  of  this  life's  whole 
Should  have  advanced  me  far  in  ways  the  highest ; 
But,  oh,  how  powers  of  flesh  will  press  the  nighest, 

And  still  how  weak  and  backward  hangs  the  soul ! 

Oft  think  I,  if  those  many  vanished  days 
That  have,  in  folly  and  in  worse,  been  wasted, 
Could  be  brought  back,  or  might  have  longer  lasted, 

Oh,  how  much  better  they  would  meet  thy  gaze ! 

Yet,  might  I  not  thy  gracious  favor  find, 
No  saving  health  could  ever  be  my  portion ; 
And  life's  remainder,  like  a  vain  abortion, 

Would  pass  no  better  than  the  days  behind. 


HOW  SWIFT  HAS  FLOWN  THIS  MORTAL  LIFE !  257 

Wouldst  thou  see  fruit  on  branches  dry  and  sere, 
There  must  come  down  from  heaven  creating  power : 
My  whole  redemption,  Lord,  is  of  thy  dower, 

My  sense  and  soul,  my  being  and  my  sphere. 

On,  on,  ye  flying  years!  still  onward  bear 
To  reach  your  goal,  and  with  a  double  fleetness ; 
I  would  not  stay  you  for  your  earthly  sweetness ; 

The  sooner  gone  from  hence,  the  sooner  there. 

The  longer,  Lord,  I  tread  this  mortal  land, 
The  fuller  grant  thy  glad  illumination ; 
And  my  poor  light  burn  clearer  on  its  station 

Till  I  transfigured  be  at  thy  right  hand. 


17 


258 


WHO  AM  I  IN  THY  LIGHT,  0  LORD? 


LVII. 

"  WER  BIN  ICH,  HERR,  IN  DEINEM  LICHT?" 

From  the  Berliner  Gesangbuch. 

Melody,  —  "  Ihr  Seelen  sinkt,"  etc. 

Who  am  I  in  thy  light,  O  Lord  ? 
Know  I  myself  as  thou  dost  know  me  ? 
And,  if  I  for  thine  own  should  show  me, 
Would  nought  within  belie  my  word  ? 

And  is  thy  yoke  borne  cheerly  still? 
And  is  thy  law  my  chosen,  sainted  ? 
Or  is  my  foolish  heart  contented 
With  idle  wish  for  steadfast  will  ? 

Appear  I  always  what  I  am  ? 
And  am  I  what  I  am  pretending  ? 
Know  I  what  way  my  course  is  bending  ? 
And  sound  my  word  and  thought  the  same  ? 


WHO  AM  I  IN  THY  LIGHT,  0  LORD  ?  259 

Abashed,  O  Lord !  make  me  to  be, 
If  e'er  untrue  thy  Spirit  found  me ! 
Thou,  who  in  heart  and  mind  dost  sound  me, 
From  every  falseness  set  me  free. 

Still  hold,  O  Lord !  my  eyes  awake, 
And  keep  my  feet  still  persevering : 
The  spirit  would  be  onward  steering; 
The  timid  flesh  would  falter  back. 

Thou,  who  the  sovereign  Helper  art, 
Wilt  never  leave  the  weak  forsaken : 
Beneath  thy  strong  arm  they  are  taken, 
Till  fast  and  sure  are  step  and  heart. 

Of  life  the  inner  Life  be  thou 
Come,  of  my  spirit  be  the  Spirit! 
Let  no  false  wishes  disinherit 
The  heart  wherein  thou  rulest  now. 


260 


JOYFUL  BE  MY  SPIRIT  SINGING 


LVIII. 

"FROHLICH  SOLL  MEIN  HERZE  SPRINGEN." 

From  the  Gemeinscliaftliclies  Gesangbuch. 

PAUL  GERHARDT. 

Nach  eigener  Melodie ;  oder,  "Warum  sollt'  ich,1'  &c. 

Joyful  be  ray  spirit  singing, 

On  the  day,       With  the  lay 

Of  the  angels  ringing. 
Heaven  and  Earth,  spread  wide  your  hearing 

Shouting  cry,       All  the  sky, 

"  Christ  is  now  appearing." 

How  can  God  look  on  despising, 

Who  thus  gives       Him  that  lives, 

Dear  beyond  all  prizing  ? 
God,  to  light  the  world's  dark  story, 

Sends  his  Son       From  the  throne 

Of  his  might  and  glory. 


JOYFUL  BE  MY  SPIRIT  SINGING.  261 

Now  he  lies  within  his  manger, 

Calling  thus       All  of  us, 

Sweetly,  in  our  danger:^ 
"  Brothers  dear,  now  learn  to  banish 

Fears  that  rack  ;       Stores  that  lack 

My  grace  shall  replenish." 

Ho!  draw  nigh  with  free  petitions, 

Great  and  small,       One  and  all 

Climates  and  conditions ! 
Love  him  who  with  love  is  glowing ; 

See  the  star,       Now  not  far, 

Light  and  peace  bestowing. 

When  the  heart  with  grief  is  swelling, 

Lo  !  a  door       Opens  o'er 

To  the  upper  dwelling : 
Mark  it  well,  and  it  shall  guide  thee 

To  the  place       Where  no  face 

Glooms  or  threats  beside  thee. 


262 


JOYFUL  BE  MY  SPIRIT  SINGING. 


When  the  load  of  sorrow  presses, 
When  your  sin  Deeper  in 
Pricks  %ith  its  distresses,  — 

Courage !  if  near  him  thou  keepest, 
Who  is  made       Healing  aid 
Where  thy  wounds  are  deepest. 

Ye  forlorn,  the  poor  and  needy, 

Hither  flee,       Footsteps  free, 
Hands  of  faith  held  steady. 

Here  are  all  good  gifts  and  treasures, 
And  the  gold,       All  heart-told 
In  the  Spirit's  measures. 

Let  me,  Lord,  be  duty  doing, 

To  thee  near  While  I'm  here, 
With  thee  homeward  going : 

There  shall  hope  be  always  vernal ; 
No  alloy       With  the  joy 
Of  the  life  eternal. 


ON  THEE,  0  LORD,  MY  HOPES  I  LEAN !  263 
LIX. 

"IN  DICH  HAB  ICH  GEHOFFET,  HERR." 

Eigene  Melodie. 

[Adam  Reussner,  b.  1471.  Among  the  many  hymns  composed 
by  him  this  paraphrase  of  the  31st  Psalm  is  the  best  known.] 

On  thee,  O  Lord,  my  hopes  I  lean ! 
From  foul  reproaches  quit  me  clean, 
Nor  let  deep  shame  around  me  gather. 
I  crave  of  thee       Enrolled  to  be 
Among  the  true,  O  Father. 

Thy  gracious  ear,  O  Lord,  bow  down 
My  prayer  to  hear,  my  vow  to  crown ; 
Make  haste  to  my  relieving. 
In  pain  or  woe       I  lie  or  go, 

Be  pitying  and  receiving. 


ON  THEE,  0  LORD,  MY  HOPES  I  LEAN ! 

God,  my  defender,  stand  thou  by ; 
My  fortress  be ;  and  strong  supply 
And  knightly  heart  be  found  me ; 
Then  let  them  close       A  host  of  foes 
On  every  side,  around  me. 

Thou  art  my  rock,  my  mountain,  Lord, 
My  shield,  my  strength, —  so  sounds  thy  word, 
My  life,  my  helping,  saving : 
My  God  indeed       In  every  need. 

What  hurts  me  by  its  raving  ? 

The  world  oft  cheats  my  ears  and  eyes 
With  counterfeits  and  wiles  and  lies ; 
It  weaves  its  nets,  ensnaring. 
Extend  thy  power       In  danger's  hour, 
The  mesh  of  malice  tearing. 

To  thee  I  yield  my  soul  and  lot ; 
My  God,  my  God,  forsake  me  not ; 
In  thy  hand's  hollow  hold  me. 
O  heavenly  arm,       Preserve  from  harm 
When  earth's  last  shades  enfold  me. 


FOR  PATIENCE,  WHEN  THE  ROUGH  WINDS  BLOW !  265 


LX. 

"GEDULD!  WIE  SEHR  DER  STURM  AUCH  WEHT71 

From  the  Berliner  Gesangbuch. 
Melody, — Preis.  Lob.  Ebx.,  &c. 

For  patience,  when  the  rough  winds  blow ! 

For  patience,  when  our  hopes  are  fading, 
When  visible  things  all  backward  go, 
And  nowhere  seems  the  power  of  aiding ! 
God  still  enfolds  thee  with  his  viewless  hand, 
And  leads  thee  surely  to  the  Fatherland. 

For  patience !  after  bitter  ways 

Thy  forward  path  will  bloom  with  blessing. 
Faith  boldly  sets  its  foot  and  gaze, 

O'er  heights  and  depths  its  errands  pressing. 
Thro'  vales  of  humblest  thought  it  journeys  down, 
Thence  trusts  in  God  to  mount  and  reach  its  crown. 


266 


WONDROUS  KING  ALMIGHTY. 


For  patience,  heart,  till  he  shall  call, 
His  "  Enter  ye,"  benignly  saying : 
And  though  the  world  shall  break  and  fall, 
Hold  on,  confiding,  watching,  praying ; 
For  soon  it  ends ;  all  need  of  patience  o'er ; 
Each  step  still  nearer  to  the  Father's  door. 


LXI. 

"  WUNDERBAKER  KONIG." 

JOACHIM  NEANDER,  1697. 

[The  slight  irregularity  that  may  be  observed  here  belongs  to 
the  original  piece,  and  is  not  a  liberty  of  the  translator.] 

Wondrous  King  Almighty, 

Ruler  of  all  being, 
Bend  to  us  thy  whole  decreeing ! 

Fatherly  thy  goodness 

Drops  on  all  around  us ; 
Though  transgressors  it  has  found  us. 


WONDROUS  KING  ALMIGHTY. 


267 


Help  us  still ;       Strengthen,  fill ; 
Set  our  tongues  to  singing, 
Loftiest  praises  bringing. 

Heavens,  praise  in  splendor 

Your  Creator's  doing 
More  than  all  man's  lordly  showing ! 

Great  Day-luminary, 

Walk  thy  paths  of  duty ; 
Paint  the  whole  vast  round  with  beauty. 

Shine  afar,       Moon  and  star! 

Be  not  cold  or  halting, 

Such  a  Lord  exalting. 

Earth  and  air  and  waters 

And  the  whole  creation 
Are  thy  goodness'  path  and  station. 

Thy  long-suffering  patience, 

With  new  evidences, 
Shines  the  more  on  soul  and  senses. 


268 


WONDROUS  KING  ALMIGHTY. 


Oh,  how  wide       Soar  and  glide, 
With  benign  dominion, 
Ranges  of  its  pinion ! 

Oh,  awake,  my  spirit ! 

Sing  with  joyful  singing ; 
Give  thy  faith  its  upward  motion. 

What  hath  vital  current 

Set  its  music  ringing ; 
Cast  thee  down  in  deep  devotion. 

Praise  be  poured       To  the  Lord  ! 

He,  the  Holiest,  Highest, 

Draws  to  us  the  nighest. 

Hallelujah  bring  we, 

Who  before  him  gather 
And  in  Christ  proclaim  him  Father ! 

Hallelujah  sing  we, 

To  the  Saviour  cleaving 
With  the  love  of  true  believing ! 


OUR  GOD,  HE  IS  A  FORTRESS-TOWER.  269 


Oh,  how  well,       Saints  shall  tell, 
When,  in  heavenly  places, 
Sin  no  more  defaces ! 


"EIN  TESTE  BURG  1ST  UNSER  GOTT." 

[This  famous  Psalm  of  Martin  Luther's  may  rather  be  said  to 
spring  out  of  the  46th  than  to  be  founded  on  it,  or  to  paraphrase  it. 
It  was  probably  composed  in  1529,  after  the  Imperial  Diet  at  Spey- 
er,  which  started  the  name  of  Protestant. 

The  present  translator  was  not  aware,  when  he  undertook  the 
work,  that  it  had  been  already  done  by  Dr.  F.  H.  Hedge.  Nothing 
further  was  needed ;  and  he  would  withhold  what  he  has  written, 
but  that  a  piece  of  so  much  renown  should  not  be  missing  among 
these  specimens.] 

Our  God,  he  is  a  fortress-tower 

And  armor  to  defend  us. 
In  all  this  press  of  hostile  power 
Deliverance  he  will  send  us. 
The  old  and  wily  foe 
Is  bent  to  work  us  woe. 


210         OUR  GOD,  HE  IS  A  FORTRESS-TOWER. 


With  might  and  many  wiles. 
He  smites  and  he  beguiles  ; 
On  earth  there's  not  his  fellow. 

With  our  own  strength  we  nothing  can ; 

We  soon  sink  down  dejected. 
There  battles  for  us  the  right  Man, 
Whom  God  himself  elected. 
Ask  who  this  can  be  ? 
Jesus  Christ  is  he  ; 
Lord  Sabaoth  his  name, 
Which  God  alone  can  claim  : 
He  holds  the  field  for  ever. 

Though  earth  all  full  of  devils  were, 

All  ramping  to  devour  us, 
We  would  not  fear  for  their  mad  stir : 
They  could  not  overpower  us. 
The  prince  of  this  world. 
Grimmest  signs  unfurled, 


OUR  GOD,  HE  IS  A  FORTRESS-TOWER. 

No  harm  now  can  do ; 
He's  judged,  with  all  his  crew. 
One  little  word  can  fell  him. 

No  thanks  to  them  who  do  their  worst, 

The  word  can  ne'er  go  under ; 
Christ  comes  against  their  spite  accurst, 
With  gift  and  sign  and  wonder. 
Strip  they  may  of  life, 
Goods,  name,  child,  and  wife : 
Let  them  plot  and  strain  ! 
They  can  achieve  no  gain ; 
God's  kingdom  must  stand  for  us. 


0  GLORIOUS  SAVIOUR,  CONQUERING  KING ! 
LXIII. 

"O  WUNDERGROSSER  SIEGE  SHELD." 

EENST  CHRISTOPH  HOMBURG,  1658. 

Melody,  —  "  Wie  schon  leuchtet  der  Morgenstern." 

O  glorious  Saviour,  conquering  King, 
Destroyer  of  Death's  doom  and  sting! 

To-day  behold  thee  seated 
At  God's  right  hand  of  majesty : 
Thy  foes  thy  suppliants  forced  to  be, 
To  endless  rout  defeated. 
Might,  thou,       Light,  thou 
Conquest  bearest,       Empire  wearest 

Death  and  living 
Subject  to  thy  will  and  giving. 

Thee  shall  the  choirs  of  Cherubim 
And  all  the  holy  Seraphim 


0  GLORIOUS  SAVIOUR,  CONQUERING  KING !  273 

Extol  with  praises,  praises  : 
Who  gifts  to  men  dost  scatter  down, 
While  upward,  to  thy  seat  and  crown, 
Thy  look  immortal  gazes. 
Sing  ye,       Ring  ye 
Strains  transcending,        Lowly  bending. 

We  are  nighest 
As  the  risen  rises  highest. 

Thou  art  the  head,  the  members  we, 
And  down  from  thence  flow  full  and  free 

Light,  life,  and  consolation. 
The  Holy  Spirit's  wondrous  might, 
That  works  in  us  the  good  and  right, 
Will  be,  for  us,  salvation. 

Reach  me,       Teach  me, 
Firmly  pressing       Word  and  blessing. 

Fit  me  duly, 
That  my  heart  may  serve  thee  wholly. 
18 


274     0  GLORIOUS  SAVIOUR,  CONQUERING  KING ! 

Oh,  lift  us,  Lord,  where  thou  art  gone, 
Help,  that  we  all  may  on  and  on 

Thy  heavenly  footsteps  follow. 
Lead  us  to  seek  what  pleaseth  thee ; 
Of  this  low  world,  to  scorn  and  flee 

The  wishes  base  and  hollow. 
Cheer  us,       Clear  us, 

Help-supplier,       Sanctifier ! 
All  pains  ended, 

Join  my  soul  to  thee,  ascended. 


DRAW  US  TO  THEE. 


275 


LXIV. 

"ZEUCH  UNS  NACH  DIR,  SO  ELLEN  WIR." 

LUDAMELIA  ELIZABETH;    GRAFLN  VON  SCIIARZBURG-RUDOL- 
STADT.     GEST.  1672. 

Melody,  —  "Ach  Gott  und  Herr,  Wigross  und  sehwer." 

Draw  us  to  thee,       So  we  shall  flee, 

All  eager,  earnest-hearted, 

Where  thou  art  found,       O  Christ,  enthroned, 

Out  from  these  scenes  departed. 

Draw  us  to  thee !       Ah,  lovingly 
From  low  affections  winning ; 
That  we,  no  more,       Be  o'er  and  o'er, 
Our  webs  of  trouble  spinning. 

Draw  us  to  thee,       Lord  Christ,  and  be 
Our  guide  at  every  station  ; 
Else,  lured  aside        Or  terrified 
From  paths  of  thy  salvation. 


276 


DRAW  US  TO  THEE. 


Draw  us  to  thee,       That  following  free 
Thy  step  to  heavenly  borders, 
The  stir  and  roar       Distress  no  more 
Of  this  bad  world's  disorders. 

Draw  us  to  thee,       To  seek  and  see 
Thy  heaven  of  truth  reflected ; 
And  oh,  impart       The  glowing  heart 
That  kindles  thine  elected. 


Cambridge :  Press  of  John  Wilson  &  Son. 


